Tension
by SmutWithPlot
Summary: A somewhat more serious take on Vash and Meryl; Meryl's impressions and understandings of Vash throughout their journey. Rated for violent or sexual themes and scenes. Follows 26 Episode story structure, fairly strong adherence to canon.
1. Prologue

PROLOGUE:

Meryl had been ecstatic to receive the Vash assignment. What an honor! Hell of a promotion, really. She'd chosen Milly Thompson as her second in command, both for the amiable working relationship they had shared in the past and for the fact that Thompson could always come through in a pinch with her stun-gun. This was the Humanoid Typhoon they were talking about, after all. Better to be ready for any situation.

But now her patience was wearing thin. All they had been able to find so far was a string of dead ends and outlaws only claiming to be Vash the Stampede. No one seemed to even know what he looked like… So they had followed up on every lead they could find in the hope that just once they would catch a break.

And that lunatic was there every time.

Meryl felt her teeth grinding just at the thought of him. Her fingers typed more furiously than ever, stabbing at the keys with unnecessary force as she wrote another unsuccessful report. She and Milly—they had become fast friends in their travels, but the younger woman still refused to stop calling her "Ma'am"—had run into this character at every turn.

He had brilliantly yellow hair that stood up in a mess of spikes, and wore a long, vibrantly red duster. He was tall, and so skinny Meryl was fairly sure that even she could snap him in half.

She grinned to herself to think about what would happen if that man ever tangled with Milly. That girl was a giant—but was probably the sweetest person Meryl had ever known. She was glad to have the younger woman with her; Milly frequently kept Meryl's (very) short temper in check. Especially when she was close to throttling the stranger each time he crossed their path, wearing that ridiculous get-up.

And then there were those round yellow glasses of his… Meryl paused in her typing to think about them for a moment. He seemed to be a different person after donning them, as if there was a flicker of real solemnity and purpose in his eyes. But that person, whoever it was, would only stay inside him for a moment. Then he would usually let out a high-pitched shriek and run away, arms akimbo and feet flailing in the dust kicked up by his boots.

No matter what Milly claimed, that idiot was _not_ Vash the Stampede.


	2. Episode 1, 60 Billion Man, Part 1

The latest disaster area was Dankin Town. Meryl and Milly had received word through the usual rumor mills, so they packed up Meryl's heavy typewriter and the rest of their belongings to make their way across the perpetual desert to the small outpost. When they arrived, people were still trying to dig their homes out of the rubble. The two women picked their way through the crowd to the sheriff's office.

The building was entirely destroyed. The back wall, facing out on what had once been the market, still stood enough to hold one window and some semblance of privacy to the man inside. Meryl and Milly walked to the door and Meryl knocked on it. Milly was leaning to one side to look into the office; the door alone stood among the ruins, and when the sheriff called, "Enter," they found him looking somewhat annoyed.

The sheriff was a tall man, only slightly more so than Milly. He was built well; sturdy, as though he worked with his hands along side his fellows in the town, unlike so many of the more rotund and complacent town officials the women had met in their travels. The man's dark hair was cropped short, and his moustache was well-groomed.

"What can I do for you, ladies?" he asked. He stood up and walked around the desk, offering Meryl his hand.

"My name is Meryl Stryfe," said Meryl, shaking his hand. Then she gestured to Milly. "And this is my partner—"

"Milly Thompson, sir!" The big girl bowed awkwardly and her stun-gun swung out from under her arm to hit the sheriff in the knee. He swore profusely and his hands flew down to the injury reflexively, and Milly looked even more upset. "I'm sorry!" she said, her face going pink.

"It's alright," said the sheriff, who seemed to be trying to put on a brave face, refusing to show pain at the hand of a flustered young girl. He leaned back against his desk, sucking in a long breath through his teeth. "So," he said. "What was it you needed?"

"We're from the Bernadelli Insurance Company, investigating the damages caused by one alias Vash the Stampede." Meryl said all this in her most professional voice. She pulled a small notebook and a pen from the folds of her cloak and flipped it open to a blank page, looking expectantly at the sheriff. "What happened here?"

"Vash the Stampede and some other man had this massive duel," the man told her, his arms gesturing broadly. "The whole town was caught in the crossfire!"

"A gun battle?" prompted Meryl.

"More like a goddamn _canon_ battle," said the sheriff.

"Oh my!" said Milly.

"There were these two HUGE men, each of them with about a dozen henchmen—"

"Henchmen?" asked Meryl, frowning. This didn't fit the usual profile.

"—One was all in grey and had this…this…_laser_ or something," the sheriff continued. He started looking frantic, losing his calm as though he were reliving the incident in describing it to them. "The other was this short-legged monster in red, but he didn't have a gun—all his cronies did, see—he just had a gigantic metal blade. It cut through anything!" He gestured around his office. "It tore apart the whole building!"

"Oh my," Milly said again.

"How many casualties?" asked Meryl, still writing notes furiously in her mangled shorthand.

"None, actually," said the sheriff, seemingly amazed.

Meryl's hand slipped, and the pen slid across her notebook in a thick slash of ink.

"None?" she asked, looking up at the man. Her forehead began to hurt, and she knew her eyebrows were coming together in confusion; it was an expression she made too frequently. "None at all?"

"Not a one," he said, shaking his head as he folded his arms across his chest. "Dozens of injuries, maybe hundreds, but no deaths."

"Just like the others!" Milly said, excitedly, putting a hand on Meryl's shoulder.

"Hush, Milly," Meryl said quickly, trying not to snap at the younger woman. Milly looked cowed and Meryl felt like she'd just kicked a puppy.

"What others?" asked the sheriff, frowning, calming again as he stroked his moustache. He looked from one woman to the other. Meryl sighed. She might as well tell him.

"We've been trying to catch up to Vash the Stampede for several months," she explained. "We always seem to arrive at each disaster area just a few days too late, or too early, or have even been there when it was happening." Meryl rubbed the aching muscles of her forehead. "And we _still_ can't actually tell who he is. There are so many different rumors or descriptions…the only consistent fact we have found in our investigation is that there have never _actually_ been any deaths at any of the sites he was believed to have appeared."

"Isn't it odd?" Milly piped up suddenly, already eager again. "Mr. Vash is supposed to be this terrible man, killing people left and right—"

"Milly," interrupted Meryl, trying to keep the girl from getting too excited.

But the younger woman continued speaking, undeterred.

"—but no one has ever actually been killed! Maybe he's not really as bad—"

"Milly, he's a criminal!"

Meryl _had_ snapped at her this time, and immediately she hated herself for it.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am," Milly said, quietly, looking down the long distance to her feet.

A whole litter of puppies. Goddamn it.

Meryl opened her mouth, but the sheriff denied her the chance to apologize to her partner.

"Well, I don't know about all this business of yours," he said, shrugging. "But this man was definitely Vash the Stampede. I'm sure of it."

"Yes, but which one?" asked Meryl, exasperated as she turned back to face the man.

"Which one?" the sheriff repeated, looking surprised. "The second, of course! The giant in red!"

"How can you be so sure?" Meryl's forehead ached even more. "You just said there were two of them—"

"The second one won," interrupted the sheriff, speaking decisively. Then he smoothed his moustache again. "I think."

Meryl sighed.

"Do you have any idea where he might be going next?"

"He drove away toward the east." The sheriff nodded toward the distant horizon.

Meryl stowed away her pen and notebook in the folds of her cloak and offered her hand to the sheriff again. He took it, and then quickly side-stepped as Milly bowed again. The stun-gun swung out and put a dent in the sheriff's desk.

"Thank you," Meryl said, as Milly tucked the heavy weapon under her arm again.

"Of course," he replied, returning to sit at his desk. "Good luck, ladies."

Meryl sighed again as she shut the door behind them. Milly waved at the sheriff one last time, through an area in mid-air where a window might once have been, and followed Meryl down the stairs.

"That didn't sound like any of the other descriptions we've heard," Meryl said, retrieving her notebook again and flipping through earlier pages.

"Well, maybe it's because this time we finally have the right one!" said Milly, cheerfully. Despite the almost completely flawed logic, Meryl appreciated the younger woman's ability to remain in such good spirits throughout the frustrations of their assignment.

"Let's hope so, Milly," Meryl said.


	3. Episode 1, 60 Billion Man, Part 2

So they headed east. Their journey was delayed two days when a tire blew on the sand-shuttle they had commissioned; apparently the newly-bankrupted people of Dankin were so desperate to find a way to make some double-dollars that they left town without properly inspecting the vehicle.

"Ma'am," said Milly, calmly.

Meryl felt a restraining hand on her shoulder and tried to unclench her fists. The driver was kneeling in the deep sand, stroking his chin as he looked down at the flat tire, and Meryl stood only a foot behind him, her fingers itching to wrap themselves around his thick neck.

It took a day and a half for them to bring a spare tire from town on Thomas-back.

Meryl thought she might grind her teeth down to nothing, but Milly patted her on the head and stroked her short hair, which always helped to calm her. By the time they arrived in Felnarl, Meryl was pleased to be rid of the driver and carried her own bags without giving him a tip. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Milly pull some double-dollars out of her pocket and pay the man, thanking him. Thank goodness for that girl.

When they walked into the town's only saloon, both women dropped their bags near the door. Meryl was still so irritable that she didn't see all eyes in the room fix on them hungrily and follow them to the bar. Milly had noticed, however, and when she moved so close to Meryl that she was practically stepping on her heels, Meryl glanced around.

Wonderful.

"Whiskey," Meryl demanded of the barkeep. "Leave the bottle."

"Ma'am!" Milly chided. Whiskey already in hand, the heavily-muscled man behind the bar glanced from Meryl to Milly. The younger woman shook her head sharply and the man shrugged, putting away the bottle and returning to his work cleaning out dirty glasses.

Half-grimacing, Meryl began to order something else when Milly squeaked loudly, jumping nearly half a foot in the air. Meryl turned around and saw a man standing behind Milly, his hand still outstretched from where he'd goosed her. He was grinning, clearly drunk.

"Ma'am!" squeaked Milly, facing Meryl. "He—"

"Hands off," Meryl told him, moving to stand in front of Milly. The drunkard's eyes seemed asymmetrically bloodshot, and his 5:00 shadow was unflattering. He was frowning now, and took a staggering step even closer. "Watch it," she warned again.

From behind her there was a loud _crack_ and a gasp. Milly's sling had broken (again) and her stun-gun dropped to the floor, falling forward onto the nearest table. The table top snapped clean off from the weight of the stun-gun and slammed up under the chin of the drunkard.

He let out a choking noise and fell backwards.

"Oh no!" gasped Milly. "I'm so sorry!" She made a move forward to help the man, but two others behind him stood up, looking threatening. The young woman stopped and one of the others, a man with dark hair and glasses, stooped to check on his friend. The third man, scarred and menacing, advanced on Milly.

"It was an accident!" she said, desperately. She glanced sideways at her partner.

"We don't want any trouble," said Meryl, flatly. The man Milly had inadvertently attacked was back on his feet, covering his mouth. Meryl could see blood dripping down between his fingers, either from splitting his lip or biting his tongue when the table had slammed up under his chin. All three men faced them now, and each had drawn a gun.

Though none had yet actually pointed a weapon at her or Milly, Meryl knew where this was heading. She glanced sideways. Milly's stun-gun still lay on the ground where it had fallen, and she could see the younger woman iching toward it.

"Stop there!" cried the scarred man, aiming his gun squarely at Milly's chest.

Meryl's own hand was slowly, so slowly, moving behind her back. Her fingertips had barely brushed the enameled grip of one of her derringers when the same man swung his gun to point at her instead.

"Don't you move, either!" he ordered. "Hands where I can see them!"

"Ma'am," whispered Milly, as they both held their hands open at shoulder-height.

"It's alright, Milly," Meryl told her, glad to hear that Milly's voice was steady; she wasn't frightened, she was waiting for orders. _Good girl_.

Meryl was sizing up the situation in her head. Alone, it wouldn't be a problem for her. She was small enough and fast enough that she could dispatch all three men within moments, with only one derringer in each hand. But she was hesitant to act, unwilling to risk any of them getting a lucky shot off and hitting Milly. The younger woman was a much larger target, and capable as she was, at present she was completely unarmed.

Before Meryl could come to any conclusion, the unmistakable noise of a pump-action shotgun sounded loudly, directly behind her ear. Meryl heard her own surprised gasp echoed by Milly's and the two women spun around in an instant.

The massive barkeep was standing only a foot behind them, his grease-stained apron thrown over one shoulder as he held an equally massive shotgun above their heads, glowering down at the three armed men.

Meryl turned to the men again and saw six wide eyes staring up the double barrel.

"Get out of my bar," growled the barkeep, his voice a deep rumble that practically shook the wooden beams of the building. Dust fell from the ceiling.

It was all the encouragement they needed. The men fled, half-strangled screams escaping them as the doors swung back and forth behind them. The barkeep lowered the shotgun and spat on the floor. Meryl didn't think this was a particularly fitting gesture, seeing as how he'd just need to clean it up again later, but still. She appreciated it.

"Thank you," said Meryl, though it grated on her nerves slightly. All things considered, it had been an expedient end to the matter, but she didn't want the man to think they couldn't take care of themselves. "But we didn't mean to turn out your customers."

"My pleasure," he said, smiling. "I'd prefer your caliber of clientele any day." He bent down and lifted Milly's stun-gun from the floor with ease, offering it to her, saying, "Miss."

"Thank you," said Milly, going pink. Meryl barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes. The girl was young and beautiful, but seemed so unaware of it she became incredibly flustered every time any man so much as tipped his hat to her.

And she had more than her fair share of hat-tipping, Meryl thought. Now she tried to restrain herself from scowling. So what if men overlooked her (literally) with Milly around? She didn't need any distractions from an important job which required frequent traveling and no real time for relationships.

Meryl realized the barkeep was speaking to her again.

"I'm sorry," she said. "What did you say?"

"You're welcome to stay as long as you like," he repeated, tucking the giant shotgun back under the car behind the bar. "I have a couple rooms upstairs, if you need a place."

"No, thank you, we need to keep moving." Meryl rubbed her forehead. Then she put both elbows on the bar and said, "Look, we heard Vash the Stampede was headed this direction." The barkeep looked at the two of them in alarm.

"Don't tell me you pretty things are looking for that $$60 billion bounty?"

Again, at the word "pretty," Milly blushed.

"No, no," she said. "We're here on business."

"Business," said the man, mulling it over as he pulled a corn-cob pipe from a pocket on his apron.

Meryl explained their situation as he lit the pipe.

"Has he been here?" she asked. "Anything you can remember would be helpful."

The barkeep puffed on his pipe. "I'm afraid you just missed him," he said. "They say he left at dawn."

"Damn it!" hissed Meryl, already frustrated and now almost livid. She buried one hand in her short hair, making it stick up between her fingers. Milly reached out to stroke her hair and Meryl slumped to let her chin rest on the faintly sticky wood surface of the bar, taking deep breaths through her nose.

"Can you at least tell us what he looks like?" Milly asked.

"He's a giant," said the barkeep. "Big weapon. Mohawk."

"The mohawk's new," Meryl muttered, not even bothering to write it down.

"You two be careful, though," he added. "They say he's the worst kind of womanizer out there."

"Oh my!" said Milly, looking worried.

Without warning, there was a sound like a huge clap of thunder. Meryl bit her tongue accidentally as the whole building shook and the bar beneath her chin seemed to jump up several iches. Beneath them the ground continued to quake and the bottles of alcohol behind the bar rattled and clanked together, threatening to fall from their shelves. The barkeep looked around, dumbstruck.

"What the—" He caught the bottle of whiskey before it fell.

Just as suddenly, the quake stopped.

Her tongue stinging, Meryl raced outside. Both Milly and the barkeep followed, and all three stared up at the bluff overlooking Felnarl. A huge dust cloud had erupted and now the sand was starting to settle, falling down on the small town. Milly and Meryl shared a glance.

"I have a few lending Thomas around the back," said the barkeep, as though reading their minds. "You're welcome to them."

"We have to hurry," said Meryl, turning to face him. "How much—"

"For you, no charge," he called over his shoulder. "Just bring them back safely."

"Milly," Meryl began, but the younger woman was already returning from retrieving their bags in the saloon.

"Here, Ma'am!" called Milly. She tossed Meryl's bags to her as the barkeep came around the building with two Thomas in tow. Meryl staggered as her bags caught her in the chest, marveling that the girl could lift everything so easily. They both loaded up the Thomas in a hurry, doing only a cursory check that the saddles straps were securely fastened before each mounted.

Milly practically stepped over the creature and sat down, or so it felt to Meryl, who had long since mustered the upper body strength necessary to pull herself up from where she could only barely reach the saddle horn from the ground. Meryl took a moment to catch her breath before pulling tightly on the reigns.

"Yah!" she called, and both Thomas started forward and rapidly built up speed.


	4. Episode 1, 60 Billion Man, Part 3

They had pushed the Thomas hard, and by the time they reached the top of the bluff, the poor creatures were breathing raggedly and nearly shaking. Meryl saw figures in the near-distance—one of them massive, easily three times her own height—and pulled back on the reins. Probably better to approach on foot, for appearances' sake, though honestly Meryl would much rather have the Thomas under her for the dual purpose of adding height and facilitating a quick getaway if needed.

At her side, Milly brought her Thomas to a halt as well. Meryl dismounted with some difficulty and watched the other woman slide down from her mount in one fluid movement, landing solidly on her feet and stroking the neck of the exhausted Thomas. Then Milly turned to Meryl's mount and did the same; Meryl didn't bother trying to comfort Thomas anymore. They only ever bit at her elbows, and she had no idea why.

"Hurry," she said to Milly, out of breath. Meryl pointed wordlessly up at the saddlebags and Milly dutifully opened what Meryl couldn't reach, digging around for the carefully sealed box they had prepared.

Meryl had told the Dankin sheriff that only one fact was consistent through all the descriptions, that there were no fatalities, but that wasn't the whole truth. There was another obscure common fact she had found frequently in her travels: the Human Typhoon seemed to have a soft spot for donuts. If the old adage, "The fastest way to a man's heart is his stomach" had any truth to it, there wasn't any harm in trying. Assuming Vash the Stampede had a heart at all.

The box of pastries held tightly in both hands, her fingers clutching hard enough to make the cardboard bow and the plastic crinkle, Meryl stood as straight as she could and squared her shoulders before striding purposefully toward the group of men. She felt Milly following close on her heels.

The men were facing away from them, seemingly all intent on something Meryl couldn't see. As they drew nearer, she realized they were actually standing in a circle and there were many more men than she had initially assumed; half a dozen had been hidden behind the giant, and now one of them had spotted Meryl and Milly under the giant's elbow.

"Hey!" he called, drawing a gun in an instant.

Meryl stopped abruptly, eyeing the gun. Milly bumped into her from behind and the stun-gun hit the back of Meryl's knee, almost making her collapse. And yet, just knowing the weapon was there was more comforting to her than the near-stumble was annoying.

The rest of the circle had turned to see the women, and all of them wore identical looks of astonishment. Except the giant. Meryl looked up to him and saw only brief surprise before he fixed them both with a very sharp glare.

"Who are you?" he barked. Milly jumped in alarm, and Meryl couldn't help doing the same. His booming voice seemed to shake the ground beneath their feet.

"My name is Meryl Strife," she said, amazed that she sounded as calm as she did. "This is my partner—"

"Milly Thompson, sir." The younger woman's voice was not as unfaltering.

"We represent the Bernadelli Insurance Company," Meryl continued, glad she knew this speech as though rote. "We have business to discuss with the man known as Vash the Stampede." Milly pushed Meryl's elbow forward with her palm and the box she held jumped out toward the giant. "The donuts are for you," Meryl blurted, immediately wishing she had managed to phrase it better. How asinine.

The giant looked down at them, eyes narrowed. Meryl's hands began to shake, and the only other movement in the circle was of the stray green hairs of the giant's mohawk dancing in the slight breeze. For a moment there was only silence. Then his eyes widened in comprehension.

"You think _I'm_ the Humanoid Typhoon?" he asked. He burst out laughing. The other men started guffawing loudly as well. "_That's_ the Humanoid Typhoon," said the giant, stepping back and pointing. Then he jabbed his own massive thumb into his chest, saying, "And _I'm_ claiming the $$60 billion."

Flabbergasted, Meryl leaned out to see what he had been indicating. She gasped and dropped the box of donuts.

"You!" Meryl shouted in disbelief.

"Me?"

It was him, _again_. That bristle-blonde-haired maniac, sitting there in his red jacket, bound tightly around the torso with rope. He was looking up at her with a sheepish grin.

"Mr. Vash!" called Milly, smiling and waving.

"THAT'S NOT HIM," Meryl bellowed, clenching both fists tightly and stomping one foot even as the giant looked down at Milly excitedly.

"So he _is_ Vash the Stampede!" the giant exclaimed. "You—"

Milly screamed as a shot rang out, a small plume of dust erupting at her feet. She danced backward a few steps and clutched at Meryl's shoulder.

Meryl's head had spun at the sound, as had that of every man there, including the captive man. A tall figure stood up on the ridge overlooking the area, staring down intently.

"Finally," said the man, with a bark of laughter. "Found you!" He was tall and lean, and aimed a long rifle directly at the giant.

"What the hell?" Meryl whispered.

Under a tall, wide-brimmed and pointed hat, the man's face was obscured by shadows and a bushy moustache and beard. He was grinning broadly and chuckling.

"Watch where you're pointing that, asshole," growled the giant. Then he asked, "Are you here for the bounty? He's already mine."

"I am, as a matter of fact," said the man, not lowering his rifle. "My name is Ruth Loose, also known as Constance Rifle, and I've come for your head, Vash."

"Mine!" laughed the giant. "I'm not Vash the Stampede, _he _is!" He pointed again at the man sitting bound in rope, but Meryl noticed he was also slowly reaching for the huge metal boomerang at his hip.

"This is so not good," Meryl muttered to Milly.

"I won't fall for your tricks," called Ruth Loose. "Vash is a short-legged earringed giant in red!"

"What?" said one of the giant's men. "No he isn't!"

"He's a blonde man in a red coat, with a big gun!" said another.

"But we thought—" Milly glanced at Meryl. "The descriptions don't match!"

Great. Yet more rumors, and still no idea what to trust.

Both men were shouting at each other now, each threatening the other with a massive weapon, be it the long-range rifle or the metal boomerang. The situation was starting to look as though it might spiral out of control at any second.

Meryl was torn. Their assignment was to babysit this Vash character and make sure he didn't cause any more damage, but at this very moment there were men who might be Vash and Meryl wasn't sure what to do. Especially now that it looked like they were about to kill each other.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," Meryl said, raising her voice, but no one turned their attention to her. "Please, there's no need for this to—"

"It's him!" shouted one of the giant's cronies. As though waiting for this rallying cry, all parties began shooting at once. Meryl tackled Milly to the ground—well, she dove for the taller woman's knees, anyway, bringing her down just the same—and the two women fell flat on their bellies, covering their heads.

Meryl's cheek was pressed hard against the sand-covered stone and she swore through her teeth as bullet casings rained down on them. Looking up after the initial volley of gunfire seemed to be over, she gasped; the man on the ridge had just launched into the air what looked like a jerry-rigged bomb made of six sticks of dynamite strapped together. It was sailing over the heads of the giant's henchman, headed straight for the green mohawk, and the big man roared and dived out of the way while his men ran for cover.

"Shit!" said Meryl, scrambling onto hands and knees. Milly was up even faster, and she grabbed the smaller woman's arm. Meryl felt herself wrenched clean off the ground and flung sideways behind an enormous boulder. She landed hard on her side and rolled up into a crouching position as the explosives went off. The sound and impact pressed in on her eardrums as though someone was trying to crush her skull with their hands. Milly cried out, and then coughed as acrid black smoke wafted over them.

Someone else nearby was screaming, and Meryl was afraid one of the giant's men might have been seriously injured by the blast. She was rising slightly, hoping to peek around the side of the boulder without being seen, but something massive fell almost on top of them, less than an arm's length away. For an instant Meryl was terrified it was another, larger explosive.

Until she realized it was still screaming.

"You!" she said, for the second time that afternoon. The man they so frequently ran across was still tied up, and had apparently been thrown into the air by the force of the blast. The tips of his spiky blonde hair were smoldering in some places and he was flailing as best he could, long gangly legs flying around and shoulders and torso wriggling around despite his arms being tied tightly to his sides. And he was still letting out a high-pitched little-girl scream with his eyes clenched tightly shut.

Meryl sized him up in a glance; no blood, no bones sticking out, no bits of him blasted away.

"Relax!" she shouted over his screaming, grabbing his shoulder. "You're fine!" When he still hadn't stopped, or even acknowledged her presence, Meryl slapped him hard across the face.

"Ma'am," said Milly, ever reproachful of Meryl's more violent outbursts. But it had worked. The man suddenly went quiet and still and opened his eyes, blinking blearily.

"Oh hello!" he said, grinning happily when he saw the two women.

There was another explosion and Meryl and Milly both ducked, Meryl half-throwing herself forward to crouch over the head and torso of the immobilized man. Her goal had been to protect him from any flying debris, but he had rolled toward her at the same time, presumably in an attempt to be better sheltered by the boulder giving them some cover. It all resulted in a the two of them colliding and getting thoroughly tangled up together. Meryl had been supporting herself with one hand on the ground on either side of his body, so when he rolled toward her she found her left arm trapped under him, forcing her shoulder down to the ground as he kept rolling forward.

"Gah!" was all she managed, and then he was on top of her and still moving. As he rolled off her chest she was able to briefly catch her breath again, but she realized her right leg had become tangled between his knees. When he continued rolling, it wrenched painfully on her hip and she seized the collar of his jacket, hurriedly hauling herself up onto his chest so he wouldn't just roll off with her leg.

Meryl was choking and blinded by the smoke and dirt kicked up by the explosives, so she shut her eyes tight and buried her face in his neck, smelling sweat and something sweet and holding on for dear life as he kept rolling over and over. Moments later they stopped abruptly, slamming into the back of the boulder. She coughed, unable to breathe, and found herself on the bottom again, nearly crushed under the man's weight. The ropes binding him were rough and hard against her chest while her concealed derringers were digging painfully into her back.

"Get off me!" Meryl demanded, freeing her hands and trying to shove him away.

"I can't!" he said, laughing and trying to shrug. His long, pointed nose was jammed into her left eye, and she tried to turn her face away but it just fell into her ear, tickling her as he giggled uncontrollably.

"Get off me!" she shouted again, furious, and on cue he simply disappeared. Meryl took in a great breath and sat up on her elbows, watching Milly pull the man up to his knees by the shoulders. "Thank you, Milly," she said, glaring at the man. He gave her another sheepish smile.

Getting up to her feet again, still crouching low, Meryl cringed at another loud burst of gunfire and shouting. She and Milly shared a glance. Carefully, Milly set the man down with his back against the rock.

"Stay here," Meryl ordered, sparing him one glare before darting out from behind the outcropping, racing for another boulder closer to the raging battle.

"Wait!" called the man, starting to wriggle around again. "Untie me! Wait!"

But Milly had already followed her partner, leaving the man behind and out of harm's way (hopefully). The two women took refuge behind the low boulder and waited for a pause in the all the sounds of the fighting before daring to look out at the scene.

Meryl was having trouble seeing through the smoke and dirt, but what she could make out horrified her. The giant's boomerang was slicing huge chunks of the landscape apart, cutting through rock as easily as butter. Ruth Loose seemed to have an endless supply of explosives, and none of the giant's cronies appeared to be running low on ammunition. It was a scene of complete devastation; many of the giant's men were already dead or dying, laying in pools of blood, some with limbs missing.

Next to her, Milly let out a small noise of distress. Meryl turned to see the younger woman becoming more and more pale. Sudden shots made Meryl start, and she drew two derringers in an instant, but not before a huge metal claw from Milly's stun-gun snapped shut on the giant's henchman who had noticed them standing several yarz away.

Though she still looked pale, there was a determined look on Milly's face as she held the stun-gun in her strong grip, prepared to fire again if needed. Meryl was glad of it. _Good girl._ Then another figure appeared through the smoke and Milly trained her stun-gun on his profile. Meryl recognized the man's pointed hat and let out a small cry, realizing Ruth loose was lobbing another bomb their way.

"Oh fuck," she said, thinking fast. There was no more cover to be had; the two women were barely hidden behind the boulder and it would give them almost no protection. "Just run!" Meryl called to Milly. "Just go!"

Milly took off sprinting, and Meryl had only managed ten yarz or so before the explosive went off just behind them. Meryl felt the heat on her neck and shoulders as though it burned through her clothes, and the blast picked her up off her feet and threw her some distance before dropping her forcibly on the hard-packed dirt. She rolled, trying to spread the blow of the impact over the whole of her body, but it still hurt everywhere. When she finally came to a stop, Meryl lay on her stomach, wondering momentarily if she had broken any ribs.

"Ma'am!"

Milly had appeared at her side, kneeling, looking terrified.

"I'm fine," said Meryl, figuring it was mostly true. The younger woman helped her up, though she still felt unsteady on her feet. Meryl could feel grit stuck to her skin all over, and she wiped her face on her sleeve. She was surprised to see a smear of blood on the white fabric and touched the side of her face gingerly. It stung, and she pulled her fingers away to see the tips glisten red.

"Ma'am, you're hurt!" Milly said, concerned.

"Forget it for now," Meryl said, wiping the blood from her fingers onto her sleeve with the rest. "Let's just get the hell out of here, we need to warn the town before it's too late."


	5. Episode 1, 60 Billion Man, Part 4

Shouts and gunfire and explosions raged on behind Meryl as she sprinted away from the scene, her lungs burning as she tried to keep up with Milly's impossibly long strides. Within moments they had reached the area where they had left the Thomas earlier. The creatures were baying loudly in distress, clearly terrified by the noise, jostling each other and scratching at the dirt beneath them. Breathless, Meryl pulled herself up into the saddle quickly and dug her knees into the animal's sides, pulling the reins sharply to lead the Thomas in the opposite direction.

"Wait!" Milly called. On Meryl's left, she had brought her Thomas to a halt and was looking back over her shoulder. "What about Mr. Vash?" she asked, worriedly.

"What?" Meryl said, confused and anxious to get the townspeople out of harm's way. "Milly, we don't even know which is—"

"I'm here, I'm here!" someone shrieked. Meryl glanced back and saw only a flash of red before a weight landed on the Thomas behind her and nearly threw her off. The animal staggered and bayed loudly again, disgruntled. Meryl fell forward and had to grasp fistfuls of the Thomas's bristly mane with both hands just to keep herself mounted.

"What the—" she began, but two gangly arms seized her around the middle and squeezed so hard she couldn't breathe.

"Go go go!" shrieked the same voice, loud in her ear.

"Mr. Vash!" said Milly, happily.

Meryl hadn't taken up the reins again, but the man behind her must have dug his heels into the Thomas's sides because it started forward at a dead sprint. The sudden acceleration pushed her back against his chest, and she wondered briefly how he had managed to get himself untied. Still unable to breathe and nearing the point of blacking out, Meryl slammed her elbow up behind her, connecting solidly with either his face or the side of his head. There was an unintelligible scream at a pitch that made Meryl wince, but it had worked. His grip on her had loosened considerably, and she took up the reins of the Thomas again and urged it on.

Meryl's heart was hammering away in her chest, adrenaline pumping it on in a fury. As they rode further and further away from the battle, Meryl felt herself calming considerably. She had a plan, and was back in control of the situation again, at least as much as was possible. She took slow, deep breaths through her nose.

Then she became more aware of the man sitting behind her. His chest was warm against her back and, she noticed with great annoyance, his heart was beating a slow, steady time. She glanced down.

His long arms could probably wrap around her three times, she realized, but right now they loosely circled her waist and held her just tightly enough to keep him from sliding off the back of the Thomas. His right hand was resting not uncomfortably on her left hip and his other hand crossed over and held his own right elbow.

He was so tall he could rest his chin on the top of her head, and he tried to do so once but Meryl snapped her head backwards into his throat. She smiled to herself at the choking noises, and was pleased when he didn't make another attempt.

A particularly loud explosion made Meryl wince. She looked back, then grimaced when she couldn't see over the man's shoulder. Scowling, she tried to lean out far enough to see—but not far enough to fall off the Thomas.

"Ooh!" said the man, suddenly. Meryl was startled by the exclamation, and then shocked to feel one of his hands start to walk its fingers down her thigh toward her knee. She might have snapped her neck, how quickly she spun around again to look down at the arm he was extending forward.

"What the hell do you think you're—" she began, but by then his long fingers had slipped into the front saddle-bag and returned again with a box of donuts.

"Aha!" he said, sounding pleased.

"Those are not for you!" Meryl said, though as she said it there was a huge bellow from behind them that could only have come from the giant and she realized how stupid the situation was; she's trying to argue about goddamn baked goods while two maniacs were in the process of destroying each other and everything around them the process?

"Danke, danke!" said the man, opening the box and settling it in Meryl's lap. The hand holding the box in place rested on Meryl's thigh, arm wrapped loosely around her middle again. His other hand was stuffing donuts into his mouth with impressive speed. Meryl thought she heard Milly giggle but when she turned, glaring, the other woman's attention seemed determinedly set on the reins of her Thomas.

He was probably getting crumbs in her hair. She gritted her teeth so hard her jaw ached.

Another explosion went off, the largest yet, and the whole mountain seemed to shudder beneath them. The Thomas stumbled, practically screaming, scrabbling to get their feet back under them as Meryl and Milly hauled back on the reins. Several yarz of the rock mountain path had simply dropped away beside them and the man sitting behind Meryl shrieked again, dropping the donuts in alarm and tightening his grip on her.

Meryl let out a strange _whuff_ noise as all the air was forced out of her lungs again.

"Sorry!" said the man in a sing-song voice, not sounding sorry at all.

He released her, and once she had her breath back she chanced a glance over the edge of the mountain. She gripped the reins of the Thomas so tightly her knuckles were white. That cascade of rock—and donuts—was headed straight down, probably onto the heads and houses of the townsfolk.

Shit. Just warning them wasn't going to be enough, the whole place would be destroyed before they could even get there. Meryl hesitated.

"Ma'am?" Milly could tell something was wrong.

"We have to go back," Meryl said, finally. She slid down out of her saddle, danced away quickly before the Thomas could take a snap at her elbow, and looked up at the man still astride the animal above her.

"There's just not enough time if they keep on fighting like this," Meryl said. "They're going to kill each other and destroy the whole area in the process." She turned to Milly, saying, "We'll go back and try to stop them, or at least slow things down enough for the town to evacuate." Milly nodded determinedly. Looking back to the man, Meryl asked, "Will you go on and give the order?"

"You're going back," he said, and his demeanor startled Meryl. His voice was even, and he regarded her intently; for a moment she thought she saw that man other man inside him, the man that sometimes appeared behind those yellow glasses.

But another explosion shook the mountain and she winced. "Look," she said, digging around in her pockets. Her fingers closed on a crumpled scrap of paper and she held it up to the man, pressing it into his hand. "Here's $$10. Just please, please hurry and tell the town to evacuate?"

Meryl motioned to Milly and the younger woman grabbed Meryl by the back of the collar and lifted her easily to sit behind her on the Thomas. She looked at the man again, but he was just staring at the $$10 bill in his hand.

The muscles of Meryl's forehead were aching again as she watched him just sit there.

Come on…

The man just stared down at the money in his hand, and then up to her face. The hair on the back of Meryl's neck stood on end and a chill raced down her spine. It was the _other_ man looking at her now, his razor-sharp green eyes meeting hers as though trying to see right into her thoughts, but she blinked and he was gone. His face split in a wide grin and he gave her an enthusiastic thumbs-up before turning around and racing down toward the town.

Meryl was a little shaken from the interaction—_what the hell just happened?_—but Milly kicked the Thomas into gear and Meryl had to focus on what was happening now, clinging to the other woman as the animal galloped at full speed. She glanced back over her shoulder once at the man's retreating figure, the sun's heat reflecting on the stone and making him no more than a red blur in the distance, and hoped she had made the right decision.

She was pretty sure what she was doing next was the result of a questionable decision at best. Running back into a battle she had no side in? It had practically killed them once already. But what else could be done?

Even as Meryl thought this, silence fell on the mountain, an almost tangible absence of sound. Milly made a happy little noise.

"That's good, they've stopped fighting!" Milly called over her shoulder.

Meryl found this a mixed blessing; yes, an end to the battle was good news for the town, but it also probably meant that one of those men had killed the other. Either way, it was going to be a mess for her to sort out.

Immediately Meryl felt sickened with herself. A man was dead, and her concern was the amount of paperwork it made for her?

"Just hurry," she told Milly. They were riding into the debris of the battle now, lingering smoke and dust obscuring everything around them.

"I can't see anything in all this smoke…" Milly muttered.

Meryl suddenly felt the Thomas stumble, and then was pitched forward into Milly's back as the ground simply gave way beneath them. The animal was howling, desperately trying to find footing as the ground slanted down away from them, its clawed feet unable to stand in the small rockslide they had tumbled into. Within moments the Thomas was completely out of control, sending Milly flying and hurling Meryl down almost under its hooves.

The ground beneath her was relentlessly carrying Meryl down the steep hillside, stones of all sizes traveling alongside her, under her, over her, and all she could do was try to shield her face and pray she and Milly would reach the bottom—however far away that was—alive.

After an agonizing half-minute or so, the rockslide seemed to slow and Meryl felt the ground leveling out. She rolled to a halt and was covered with nearly a foot of stone and dirt before she could manage to raise herself up on hands and knees, coughing.

"Milly!" Meryl called, though it only came out as a hoarse croak before she coughed again. She pushed herself up to her feet and staggered sideways, falling again, dizzy from their rapid descent.

"Ma'am, I'm here," Milly called. She sounded alright, at least, and Meryl was glad of it. She made her way toward Milly's voice through the smoke and settling dust, finding the other woman sitting near the Thomas, her right hand clutching her left shoulder.

The Thomas was dead. Its head lay at an unnatural angle from its shoulders and Meryl guessed its neck had snapped somewhere during the fall down the mountain. She counted herself lucky to have escaped the same fate, and hurried to Milly's side. The younger woman was crying, and Meryl was terrified.

"What's wrong? What happened?" she asked, kneeling and gently trying to pull Milly's hand from her shoulder. She could see blood soaking into the fabric of Milly's cloak, but that didn't seem to be what was bothering her.

"The poor thing," Milly said, her lip trembling. Meryl realized she was talking about the Thomas, and watched her stroking the dead animal's neck.

"Oh, Milly," said Meryl. "You can't worry about that now." Privately, she marveled at the girl's sense of compassion, to be more troubled by the creature's death than her own injury, which—Meryl saw now—was a ragged gash unmistakably caused by the clawed foot of the Thomas itself.

"Hey, who's there?"

A voice called through the smoke and dust and Meryl froze.

"Don't move," she mouthed to Milly.

A sudden burst of gunfire out of the smoke made Meryl throw herself nearly flat on the ground.

"Don't shoot!" Milly called. "We aren't your enemies!"

There was silence.

After a few moments, Meryl could see a shape becoming clearer in the smoke and dust. A man stepped into view, holding a heavy machine gun with overly-large hands unsuited for his body. He caught sight of her and Milly and his eyebrows jumped skyward.

"Hey, it's those two broads that were here earlier!" he shouted over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off them. Meryl kept her eye on his gun, sizing him up. "Come on," he said, gesturing at them with the gun barrel, leading them on into the smoke behind him. Meryl and Milly shared a glance, and then followed.

Within moments the air had cleared and Meryl could see where they were. The giant and his league of henchmen were in a loose circle, all now focused intently on her and her partner. They seemed to all be standing in the center of a huge crater, a great bowl carved out of the rock by Ruth Loose's explosives and the giant's metal boomerang.

"Where is he?" the giant demanded, stepping forward and addressing Milly, presumably because she was closer to his height than Meryl—though not by much. "That guy you left with," he clarified. "The Humanoid Typhoon."

"What—him?" Meryl asked, dumbfounded.

"You mean Mr. Vash?" Milly asked, looking confused.

"That man is not Vash the Stampede!" Meryl shouted, yet again. How many times…?

"You let him get away!" growled the giant. "It was so damned hard to track him down and now—" He stopped, his eyes taking on a manic gleam. "He's gone into town, he could be iles away by now!" he bellowed, his great hands tearing green hair from his mohawk as he curled his upper lip in a snarl.

"He can't have gotten that far still tied up," said Ruth Loose. He was standing nearby, leaning on his rifle and picking dirt from under his nails. Meryl could have told him the man had untied himself, but she didn't bother. "We'll string up these two first," the man continued, waving a hand detachedly in Meryl and Milly's direction.

"Why?" asked the giant. "You think he'll come back for them?"

"Maybe, maybe not," Loose said, shrugging. He smoothed down his moustache and leered down at Meryl with an expression she didn't particularly like. "Either way, you'll have them at your mercy." Loose nodded toward some of the giant's henchmen, whose eyes had suddenly taken on a hungry, determined gleam. "I think some of your boys are particularly interested in the idea."

Meryl's heart seemed to sink into her stomach.

"You're a sick man," the giant said, grinning. "But I like the way you think." The men closed in a circle around the two women and the giant reached toward Meryl with a hand large enough to wrap around her waist, a smirk on his face.

_This is so not good._


	6. Episode 1, 60 Billion Man, Part 5

Plan, plan, she needed a plan, quick.

The men had closed in a circle around them and Meryl looked around, settling her feet apart into a solid fighting stance. Many of the nearest men had holstered their guns, advancing on the two women with open hands. Meryl weighed her options; there was a shit-load of firepower on the other side, but she wasn't exactly unarmed herself. She had more than enough bullets for all of them, but it would be impossible to act now without getting both Milly and herself killed before doing any real damage.

Okay then, drawing now would be a bad plan. Meryl heard Milly crack her knuckles and knew the other girl had come to the same conclusion. What the hell else did that leave?

Milly coughed quietly and Meryl glanced over. Holding Meryl's gaze, Milly rolled her left shoulder just slightly. Meryl's eyebrows shot up.

Well, hell, that might work. It would be taking a huge risk, and they'd be relying a lot on luck…but she certainly couldn't think of anything else. They were going to get taken.

Meryl nodded at Milly before turning back to the man nearest her.

"As many as you can, then," she said, under her breath, as the man nearest her stepped just slightly into the circle. Before anyone knew what happened, Meryl had leapt forward and dropped him with a roundhouse to the throat, jumping back to the center of the circle again immediately after. There was a split-second of shocked silence before several men growled and rushed forward.

There were shouts behind her and she knew Milly had acted as well. A hand closed on Meryl's wrist and instead of pulling away she stepped forward, slamming her shoulder into the man's sternum, bending low to get leverage on the taller man and throw him over her shoulder. Surprised, he let out a shout as Meryl threw him down into the shins of two others, who stumbled and tripped forward over their comrade. She kicked both these men while they were down, hitting each in the side of the head with two snaps from the knee in rapid succession. Stepping back hurriedly, she dodged a fist aimed for her face, ducking low and coming up under another man's arms, punching him hard in the gut. She blocked another blow for her head with her forearm, the man's heavy fist jarring her whole arm and nearly sending her off-balance as she punched his exposed side under her guard.

Someone seized her from behind, shouting triumphantly as he lifted Meryl off her feet. Others then tried to grab hold of her legs but she kicked wildly at them, shouting wordlessly. She squirmed in the tight grasp for a moment, gasping as he squeezed her painfully, and then slammed her head back as hard as she could into his face. It hurt the back of her skull, and when he screamed it rang in her ears, but he let her go. She dropped to the ground, sweeping his feet out from under him and bringing him down to the ground to fall underfoot of his neighbors.

They were closing around her fast and she was running out of room to try fighting each man individually. She did her best to just do as much damage as possible to her multiple opponents, dodging blows when she could see them coming and striking out at every opportunity. She let a high-kick fly blindly and though it connected solidly against something—someone's face, she wagered, by the howl of pain that accompanied the blow—a hand caught her ankle and held it in a vice-grip, yanking her off her standing foot.

The man holding her ankle brought an elbow down hard on the side of her knee and pain exploded down her leg. She screamed and the man threw her down to the ground. Scrambling up onto all fours, she managed to get a few iches before someone pressed a heavy boot to the small of her back, forcing her down as others kicked sand in her face. She gasped, choking and coughing at the agony of grit in her lungs. The boot pressed down hard, making her spine bow and crack in excruciating pain. Shutting her eyes tight, the grit there digging in further, Meryl shrieked in pain.

"Ma'am!" Milly was shouting, somewhere, sounding furious at Meryl's tortured cry.

The foot at Meryl's back disappeared as hands wrapped rope around her torso, pinning her arms to her sides. They hauled her up to her feet but her injured knee wouldn't support her weight and she almost fell. She put all her weight on the left leg instead and stumbled when they tried to force her to walk toward the green-haired giant.

The men had to hold Meryl up until she faced their boss and could stand on only her left leg again. She looked around for Milly and watched over her shoulder as the other woman was finally dragged down to the ground by her long hair. Again someone stood on Milly's spine to hold her immobile and she squealed in pain.

"Milly!" Meryl called, straining against the men holding her. "You bastards!" she said to the boss. If they man-handled Milly too roughly, their plan for escape would be completely useless. Meryl argued for Milly's safety, and her own. "She's just a girl—" Someone backhanded her and she reeled from the blow, pushed sideways onto her bad leg. She collapsed with a gasp, trying to fall on her side rather than on the knee, and her shoulder hit the ground with enough force to knock the wind out of her. The giant reached down to grab her around the torso with one hand and set her back on her feet, grinning.

Moments later, Milly was standing next to Meryl, tied up and held in place by three of the largest men in the gang. They all had bloodied noses and part of Meryl was fiercely proud of the younger woman for the number of men she had put entirely out of commission. Over her shoulder, Meryl saw nearly twice as many men on the ground near where Milly had been fighting as compared to her own (still fairly impressive, she thought) pile-up several yarz away.

"Christ, these two are a handful," scowled one of the men holding Milly. Meryl thought he probably had a broken nose, but couldn't be sure—he might have been that ugly to begin with. She tried to count the fallen men who seemed ready to stay down for awhile, but the giant was barking for attention and she jumped in surprise, gritting her teeth as the movement jarred her injured leg.

"Okay, Loose," he called. "Now what?"

The bounty hunter was still leaning on his rifle, watching the proceedings with seemingly detached interest. He shrugged.

"String them up over there," he called, pointing. "From that arch."

All heads turned the direction Loose was indicating. Meryl saw a long, narrow stone arch spanning the distance between two rock faces, and her heart raced a little faster. This could work; if everyone stayed here, facing the arch, there was cover on either side past it. If they could just get free, they could make enough of a stand…

Hands hauled Meryl and Milly under the stone arch. A man wrapped another rope around Meryl's torso, grinning at her when she winced in pain at how tightly it was wound. The men threw the other end of the rope up over the arch and fastened it securely. It was holding her up uncomfortably around the arms, though she was still glad it took some weight off her injured leg. Milly was strung up next to her, but she couldn't turn to catch her eye.

Meryl's eyes scanned the crowd facing them. Nearly a third of the men were sitting on the ground, nursing injuries or at least breathing hard. Almost everyone else had put away their weapons; all the pistols she could see were holstered, and as far as she could tell, Ruth Loose's rifle was the only one not slung back over a shoulder.

This could actually work.

"Milly," she said, quietly. "Can—"

"Let's see," interrupted the giant, stepping forward. Meryl fell silent as he surveyed them both, tilting his head this way and that, until he finally grinned and turned his attention to Milly. He stepped forward, reaching toward her.

"No!" Meryl shouted, unable to struggle, but trying to lean forward nonetheless. "Leave her alone!" Her teeth were gritted together and her lips were drawn back in a snarl. "Don't touch her," she growled.

Meryl's job now was simple. She needed to keep everyone's attention on her and give Milly time to act. Milly, Meryl knew, could dislocate her left shoulder at will. Apparently there was an accident when she was younger, wrestling with her brothers, but now it meant she could easily pull the bone free from the socket and let her slip the ropes. The men had taken Milly's stun-gun, but they didn't know about Meryl's derringers; Milly could grab two from Meryl's cloak faster than any of these men could draw their own weapons. At least Milly could get away. That would be enough for Meryl.

This could actually work.

"I said don't touch her!" Meryl shouted, again. The giant looked at her in surprise, but then grinned again, appearing even more frightening than before. He stepped toward her now, turning away from Milly, now close enough that Meryl could feel as well as smell his foul breath on her.

"Then you want me all to yourself?" he asked. The men around him laughed cruelly. He bent close to her face and breathed in through his nose, his eyes closed and expression pleased, until he let out the breath through his mouth. "I can_ smell_ the fear on you," he said. "It's intoxicating."

He held out the giant metal boomerang blade and Meryl took in a sharp breath. The blunt side of the tip touched her cheek, and she stood, trembling in fear, trying to stay completely still. She felt the cold metal against her skin as it moved down the side of her cheek and slid under her chin, forcing her face up as high as her neck could allow, craned painfully high. She glared defiantly at the giant, not looking away from his eyes, until his gaze moved down over her body.

Then the blade moved slowly down her neck, traveling over her chest, pushing the cloak open. It slid down over her stomach and then sideways over her hip and down along the side of her leg. It stopped where her cloak hem lay, and Meryl gasped as the giant turned the blade flat, the razor sharp blade scraping gently at the fabric of her trousers without cutting through as he began lifting the cloak. Meryl both heard and felt the derringers clinking together as her cloak moved. The giant's eyes widened and she held her breath.

Meryl heard the faint sound of Milly's shoulder coming free from its socket.

"Emergency!"

The giant turned so quickly that when his blade pulled away from Meryl's cloak it sliced through her white slacks and cut shallowly into her leg. She gasped.

"What's going on?" All the men were looking around worriedly. Each of them had grabbed his gun again, but no one's attention was on the women anymore. Meryl tried to look sideways at Milly but still couldn't manage to see her, so she turned her attention the same direction as everyone else.

The call had come from some distance. From the direction of the path down to Felnarl, Meryl thought she could see someone on a Thomas. Then she recognized it as the mount she had been riding earlier, its strangely dark face unmistakable even from this distance. She felt her eyes go wide with disbelief.

"It's him," said Loose, sounding as stunned as Meryl felt. He took up his rifle and shot at the figure in the distance, rapid-fire, the cross-handle rotating in a blur. All the giant's men fired as well, but Meryl managed to hear one distinct gunshot from the distance, echoing strangely differently off the rock outcroppings around her.

Simultaneously, she felt the tension of the rope holding her go suddenly slack. She almost fell, still wrapped tightly, but next to her Milly had slipped the ropes and burst out of her own wrappings. The younger woman grabbed Meryl around the waist and threw them both down behind the left side of the rock face next to the arch.

"Are you alright, Ma'am?" Milly asked, untying Meryl as quickly and carefully as she could. "I'm sorry I couldn't—"

"It's alright," said Meryl, favoring the bad leg as she caught her balance. "I don't understand what happened, how did I—" She stopped abruptly, finding the end of the rope tethering her to the arch. The ends of the unraveling fibers were burnt, shot clean through. "That's not possible," she whispered, gripping the rope tightly in one hand as she stared down at it with wide eyes.

"Ma'am, look!"

Meryl heard shouting and gunshots and leaned out to see what was happening, drawing two pistols from her cloak as she did so. The scene was total chaos, everyone shouting and shooting at what seemed like phantom shapes in the dust the giant's boomerang would kick up each time he threw it. He threw it again now, and on the return trip it sliced through the arch above their heads.

The stone arch crumbled, falling onto their heads, and Meryl shouted for Milly to move. She flung herself out of the way just in time, some of the smaller chunks of rock pelting her as she rolled out of the way, straining to hold in cries at the pain in her leg.

"Quickly, Ma'am," called Milly, taking Meryl's arm. "Up here!"

They climbed up a steep slope along the ridge, Meryl finding her way with some difficulty. She holstered the derringers and used both hands to help pull her up, gritting her teeth against the pain in her leg until they came to rest at the top of a plateau looking down on the crater below.

"Where is he?" Meryl asked, breathlessly, scanning the scene for the man in the red jacket. It was impossible to think he had freed her with one shot to sever the rope—but she couldn't come up with any other explanation.

"There!" said Milly, excitedly. She pointed, but then her face fell. "He's embarrassing to watch."

It was true; the man was scrambling around on all fours, screaming his head off, somehow managing to escape being shot or exploded or cut in half by the boomerang. Meryl shook her head in disbelief, but then saw one of the giant's thugs pop up out of nowhere, ready to shoot the man in the back.

Without even thinking, she drew another derringer instantly and fired. The bullet hit her mark exactly and the giant's man sprawled on the ground, clutching his ruined shoulder. The man in red spun, his gaze finding Meryl even at this distance, his green eyes catching hers for a moment. They were the _other_ eyes again, she could tell, and they gave her goosebumps.

Just as quickly, the man had returned his attention to the fight. He seemed to hold his own for another few moments, but then the giant had him pinned down at the edge of the cliff, and Meryl knew there was no time for them to reach him, especially not with her injury. Even if Milly ran for it herself it would be a stretch, and the younger woman didn't have her stun-gun—or Meryl's skills with the smaller weapons they had available.

"What do we do, Ma'am?" asked Milly, worriedly.

"I don't know, Milly," she said. "I don't think there's anything we _can_ do."

They were far enough away that Meryl couldn't hear the voices of the men on the cliff below, though certain sounds and syllables were carried to her ears on the wind. There seemed to be a standoff of some kind, but she had no idea what was happening. Then she gasped; the man in red had moved more quickly than she could have imagined and somehow, moments later, both Ruth Loose and the giant were down and unmoving.

"It's over," Meryl said in disbelief, both relieved and shocked. "He beat them both." She just kept staring at him in the distance, wondering what the hell had happened, picturing his brilliantly green eyes as they met hers. "I don't know how," she said, shaking her head, "but—"

"It's like he really _is_ Vash the Stampede!" said Milly, clasping her hands together and grinning in her excitement. Meryl turned on her, ready to argue vehemently against this ridiculous notion, but the man had started screaming. She turned quickly in alarm, derringers appearing in both her hands, and saw his long red jacket billowing out behind him as he ran, ran for all he was worth, away from…

She gasped.

Ruth Loose's last bomb exploded in a blaze of flame and smoke and dust and made the ground shake beneath them.

"No!" shrieked Meryl, fisting both hands in her hair as she stood, staring down at the cliff's edge as several tons of stone were set loose, most of the mountainside simply sliding down the rock face onto the town. "Not again!"


	7. Episode 1, 60 Billion Man, Part 6

"Ma'am, please stay still," Milly begged, trailing after Meryl with her hands full of cotton balls and a bottle of antiseptic.

Meryl was too busy fuming. She was pacing across the floor of the only cramped, two-bed room she and Milly had managed to find left standing in Felnarl, and she was livid. Her leg ached with each step but she was just too damn angry to stay put.

"That idiot," she said, picturing the man's face in its most infuriating ridiculous expression. He had practically destroyed the whole town! Well, he'd been involved, anyway. He was around at the time, and certainly got in the way. In _her_ way. "That man," she snarled. "Who the hell _is_ he?"

"You mean Mr. Vash?" asked Milly, trying to catch hold of Meryl's arm as she stomped past. "Oh Ma'am, please let me clean that cut above your eye."

"For the last time," Meryl said, now fixated on the man in red and greatly annoyed by Milly's continued obstinacy. How long could that girl keep believing something so ridiculous? Meryl turned on Milly to set her straight—again—but glanced up and gasped in surprise.

"Gotcha!" said Milly triumphantly, snagging Meryl in a loose choke-hold. Meryl squeaked in alarm and then winced when the antiseptic Milly daubed on the cut stung her.

"Ow!" Meryl hissed, trying to pull free of the younger woman's grasp.

"If you'd just stop fidgeting," chided Milly patiently, tightening her grip slightly to hold Meryl in place.

Meryl gritted her teeth and closed her eyes. Honestly, she really was a big baby about the small things…pain flared in her leg each time she put weight on it, but she was complaining more about a little antiseptic.

"There," Milly said finally, sounding pleased. Meryl felt a final brief pressure on her eyebrow before Milly released her and when she reached up she felt a soft fabric band-aid covering the cut.

She glanced at Milly's face, where the woman had already seen to her own small injury—probably while Meryl was first stomping around and refusing to be cared for. She noted the color of the band-aid Milly wore and reached up to touch hers again, grimacing.

"It's neon pink, isn't it," Meryl muttered.

"I _like_ pink," said Milly, defensively. "What's wrong with pink?"

The younger woman was putting the bottle of antiseptic back into the leather bag she kept stocked for just such occasions, which they ran into a lot, come to think of it… Meryl wondered where she kept finding the medicinal supplies, especially with their (very, very) limited budget.

"I'm going to fetch the laundry," Milly said cheerfully, standing up again. "The woman downstairs did the washing for us!"

As Milly stood, Meryl caught sight of something flashing through the room, just out of the corner of her eye. Instinctively, she drew a derringer from where her cloak rested over the back of the chair at the desk.

"No!" Milly said, jumping forward and pushing Meryl's hand down.

"What the hell was that?" Meryl demanded. She watched, confused, as Milly dropped to all fours and looked under Meryl's bed. The taller woman wriggled halfway under the bed and Meryl marveled that she could fit her broad shoulders down there at all.

"Here, kitty!" came Milly's muffled voice.

Oh, dear…

"Gotcha!" said Milly, sounding as pleased as she had when she snatched Meryl earlier. She backed out from under the bed, a wide-eyed black cat in her arms. Meryl stared at it, and it seemed to stare back.

"Nyao…"

"I named him Kuroneko!" Milly said, smiling and rubbing her nose against the cat's.

"We're not keeping the cat, Milly," said Meryl, closing her eyes and massaging her forehead.

"But I named him," said Milly, pouting, as though this was irrefutable proof that the cat belonged with them.

"I don't care—"

"You just don't know him well enough," Milly said, decisively. She dumped the cat in Meryl's arms, saying, "Hold him while I get our clothes," and vanished.

Meryl was left holding the cat, rather awkwardly. She'd never actually held one before, and wasn't sure she was doing it right. Kurone—the cat, just _the cat_—lay in her arms, its spindly legs splayed about at odd angles, its wide eyes staring up into hers.

"Um," she said.

"Nyao," it replied.

This is ridiculous.

Meryl hunkered down on her toes and put the cat down on the floor, but before she could stand up again it had leapt into the sort-of lap presented by her thighs, parallel to the floor.

"Um," she said, again, startled as it settled itself on her legs.

"Nyao," again.

"Shoo," Meryl said, apprehensively. She didn't want to make it angry. Cats have claws. She made a face; that would mean more antiseptic. "Shoo, shoo," she said, waving her hands away without touching it. The cat just started purring, curled up and looking up at her now with half-closed, pleased-looking eyes.

Sitting on her heels like this was starting to get painful, so finally she made the decision to scoop the cat up again and carry it (quickly) to Milly's bed. It went limp in her arms—("Nyao…")—and allowed her to set it down with no incident. Milly walked in just as Meryl had set it down, and it must have looked like she had been caught in the act of petting it because Milly beamed at her.

"I knew he'd grow on you, Ma'am," she said, sounding pleased with herself. She sat on the bed next to the cat, balancing a basket of laundry in her lap, freeing a hand to pet the cat, which rubbed its head into her hand, purring even more loudly.

"He didn't—I mean, _it_ didn't," Meryl started, but Milly just smiled up at her. "I'm just going to write the report," she grumbled.

Meryl sat heavily in front of the typewriter and let out a long breath. This was the worst part about her job, she had decided long ago. And even now, having been strung up and shot down and neon-pink-band-aid-ed, the task still held that special place of ultimate loathing in her heart. She stared briefly at the blank page in the typewriter, trying to imagine putting into words everything that had happened that day.

It all seemed to flash through her mind, and she saw every agonizing detail, how everything had just gone from bad to worse faster than she could even imagine possible. And she saw that man in the long red jacket, and it made her press the heels of her hands into her eyes. If he hadn't been there, things would have gone differently. Maybe. If he had just gone back to the town like she said, everyone could have evacuated (though, to be fair, no one was hurt anyway). If he had just gone back to the town like she said, those two men wouldn't have gone to war with one another and with him. If he had just gone back to town…

"Argh, this is all my fault," Meryl groaned, sitting back and massaging her forehead again.

"How could this possibly be your fault?" Milly asked. She looked up from where she was meticulously folding her clothes, sounding incredulous. "Ma'am, you're writing the report yourself," she went on, pointing at the typewriter in front of Meryl. "You know it was that man, Ruth Loose!"

"Yes, yes," Meryl allowed, shaking her head, "but if I hadn't given that idiot my Thomas—"

"Then we'd both be dead!" Milly said, jumping to her feet. The cat rolled off her lap into the basket of Meryl's laundry, still purring. "Or worse! Mr. Vash _saved_ us, Ma'am!"

Meryl thought suddenly of the rope that had bound her, the end that had been severed. Looking back now, she couldn't possibly believe that her original theory held any water at all. No one, _no one_, is that good a shot.

Not even Vash the Stampede.

"Mr. Vash _is_ kind of handsome, though," said Milly, apropos of nothing. She was sitting down again.

_What??_

Meryl thought perhaps she had blacked out for several minutes of conversation. And wondered how the hell it could have gone in this direction.

Milly continued, unphased by Meryl's reaction, "Don't you think, Ma'am?"

Meryl had jerked slightly in surprise, and then let her face meet her palm with a satisfying _thwack!_

Of all the men Milly could have taken a liking to… Why? Why?

"Don't you?" Milly prompted, again, when Meryl hadn't answered.

"No, of course—" Meryl began testily, turning in her seat, but as she said it her mind de-railed slightly. She thought of the stranger's arms around her waist, his chest warm at her back. She thought of the look in his eyes when turned to find her in the distance, somehow knowing she had intervened in the middle of the gunfight.

Then she came to her senses, shaking her head as though to knock out those stray thoughts. "No!" said Meryl. "Milly, that man is nothing but trouble! If we have any luck at all, this will be the last time we cross paths!"

"Oh, I don't think you really mean that, Ma'am," said Milly, absently. She had started folding Meryl's clothes now, setting them out on the bed, humming to herself. Meryl stared at the back of Milly's head in disbelief, unable to come up with any kind of response.

She gave up trying, and turned back to the typewriter.

Meryl sighed. Twisting her head from side to side until her neck popped loudly—("Ma'am!")—Meryl sighed again and put fingers to keys:

_Disaster report:_

_We have detremin_

Goddamn it.

Meryl ripped the page out of the typewriter and crumpled it in her hands, throwing toward the trash bin in the corner. She missed.

It didn't take too long for the trash bin (and the corner) to fill up and Meryl once again cursed her tiny fingers, which were so easily prone to slipping between the keys, causing typing errors and scraping her knuckles all to hell when she pulled them free.

Finally, finally, finally, she sat back in the chair and looked down at her work, satisfied that it included everything she needed to report and had no major spelling or grammar problems—yet horrified it had taken her so long to write.

_Disaster report:_

_We have determined that the landslide which destroyed Felnarl was caused by the illegal use of explosives by a man named Ruth Loose, also known as the bounty hunter "Constance Rifle." Please pay the insurance owed. Please also note: another outlaw known only as "The Boss" was apprehended also, after ultimately playing a role in the town's destruction as well. We will remain in Felnarl until the morning (at which time the cavalry arrives to move these two criminals to a higher security location) before returning to our search for Vash the Stampede._

"Ma'am?"

Meryl started in surprise, then pressed one hand over her rapidly beating heart as she turned away from the desk.

"Milly?"

"Sorry Ma'am," Milly said, looking apologetic. "I didn't mean to interrupt…"

"It's alright, Milly," said Meryl, glad for the break. She stood and stretched, glancing out the window to see that night had fallen without her noticing. "What is it?" she asked Milly.

"Probably nothing," the younger woman said. "But apparently these were posted all over town this morning, and had been taken down already by this afternoon." She handed Meryl a crumpled piece of paper smoothed flat.

It was an advertisement of a man in a city 80 iles away, looking for a hired gun to protect his property. The broad heading of the flyer read:

_WANTED FOR HIRE: VASH THE STAMPEDE_

"If they've been taken down," Milly said, "do you think he answered the ad?"

Meryl was still looking down at the paper. She couldn't imagine anything like this could ever intrigue the Humanoid Typhoon. Could he actually be that stupid?

"We'd better check it out," Meryl sighed. "And we're not taking the cat," she added.


	8. Episode 2, Truth of Mistake, Part 1

Meryl was thoroughly dehydrated, but had not yet started chasing phantom desserts.

After sorting out things in Felnarl, she had found another pair of Thomas (Milly had apologized to the bartender, nearly in tears, for the death of his Thomas) and the two set out for Schezar's town. Par for the course where their luck was concerned, they ran afoul of a small storm and they were forced to dig in and find what shelter they could, squashed together between the protective—if smelly—bulk of the two Thomas.

The storm lasted three days and Meryl realized they were going to run out of water for both Milly and herself, much less for the Thomas, before they could reach their destination. She started rationing it, but knew that the Thomas simply needed more just to function, and without them she and Milly didn't have a chance.

By the time they reached the town, Milly was hallucinating. Twice, Meryl had to steer the younger woman back on course after she had spotted a stack of her favorite pudding cups in the distance.

Now they trudged through the deserted town on foot, having left the exhausted animals to rest in the shade of the first building they had reached.

"No one said this was a ghost town," Meryl whispered, her lips so dry that they pulled apart and cracked when she spoke. She winced and licked away small amounts of blood, trying to wet her chapped lips.

"Ma'am!" shouted Milly suddenly, making Meryl start in surprise. "Look!"

"There's no pudding, Milly," Meryl said gently, rubbing her aching forehead.

"No—Ma'am, look!"

Meryl was completely taken aback as Milly grabbed her by the chin and forced her face to the left. Then she gasped in surprise.

"Don't get your hopes up."

Both Meryl and Milly stopped mid-stride, racing toward the well Milly had spotted.

The words had come from a man who had appeared from inside the otherwise deserted general store. He wore a large pack on his back and was locking the doors behind him.

"The well's dried up a long time ago," said a boy, no doubt the man's son, who had been hidden behind the massive backpack. "That's why we're leaving." He didn't seem too upset about it.

"Has everyone left?" Meryl asked the man. "What happened here?"

"Just the drought," he said, shrugging, settling the pack more comfortably over his shoulders. "Without water there's not much hope for anyone, here."

_Speaking of water…_

"Is there any chance you have water we could buy from you?" Meryl asked. "My partner and I—" But she stopped. Milly was gone. Meryl looked around desperately and saw that the younger woman had wandered off again, though she relaxed when she saw Milly was only a few blocks away. Meryl cupped her hands around her mouth and called, "Milly!"

"Pudding!" came Milly's faint reply. Meryl turned back to the man, shaking her head.

"You see my troubles," she said.

"Sorry, but we've got none to spare," the man said, sounding honestly apologetic. Then he hitched a thumb over his shoulder and grimaced. "Try old Tight-Wad up there, though," he advised them. "He seems to have a soft spot for pretty young girls. Come on," he added to his son, and they walked off toward the north end of town.

Meryl looked in the direction the man had indicated and saw a great mansion in the distance, almost hidden behind the general store building from this angle. The house was in excellent repair; it was a good bet the owner could afford enough water to spare them some—though perhaps at a price.

"Milly," Meryl called again, starting to walk back toward the younger woman, following her staggering footsteps around the corner. "There's a house up there, we might try to see if they can help us."

"But…the pudding!" Milly was pointing at nothing in particular, somewhere between Meryl and the abandoned saloon at the end of the street.

"Water, Milly," Meryl told her, pulling at her elbow. "Real _water._" Milly hesitated.

"Water's good too," Milly allowed, and she let Meryl lead her to the steps of the mansion. They climbed up into the welcome shade of the porch and caught their breath for a moment.

Meryl knocked on the door, her arm feeling at least twice as heavy as she remembered it ought. At almost the same moment her knuckles touched wood, the door opened and hands presented her with two full glasses of sparkling, clear water.

Before Meryl could ascertain if this wasn't just another mirage, Milly leapt forward with a manic shout of glee, grabbing one glass and throwing it back almost entirely in one massive gulp. Meryl then took the other nearly as quickly, saying "Oh, thank you. Good god, thank you," before having any herself. As she drank, she glanced up and immediately choked, spitting a mouthful of water all over the front of a long red jacket.

"Hello!" said the man, brightly, seemingly unperturbed by the water Meryl had just sprayed across his chest.

"Hello Mr. Vash!" said Milly, just as brightly. Meryl was coughing too hard to correct her, some of the water stuck in her throat, and the man in red reached out to thump her on the back surprisingly forcefully with his left hand.

"Are you alright?" he asked, still grinning down at her.

"Um," she coughed once more. "Yeah. Yes, fine, thanks."

"Finish that water," he told her, and Meryl remembered she was still holding the glass. She drank, feeling oddly like the man was sizing up her health with his eyes, his gaze seemingly more considerate than she would have expected. Then, as if he knew she was suddenly harboring some kinder thoughts about his character, he said, "You look like death on toast." She scowled at him.

"Hello hello, who are these fine young ladies?"

This voice came from somewhere behind the tall blonde man and he stepped to one side, revealing a small mustachioed man. He smiled affably at them and then looked up at the man in red.

"Are these friends of yours?"

"Friends of—what?" Meryl demanded, almost choking again.

"Why don't you come in, ladies," the short man said, gesturing them inside the house. "It's far too hot outside to linger for proper introductions."

Milly thanked the man and followed, but Meryl hesitated. She glanced at the man in the red duster and wasn't sure if she should trust anyone who trusted him. But the cool air inside the mansion was incredibly enticing, and she finally let herself be ushered inside, the man in red putting a hand at the small of her back (a strangely intimate gesture, she felt) and leading her into the main sitting room, closing the heavy door behind her.

As she sat on the couch next to Milly, Meryl watched the shorter man put an old, warped record on the Victrola in one corner. It played a strangely familiar tune, though she couldn't quite remember the words. On Meryl's left, the man in red seemed like he was having the same feeling. He noticed her watching him and she looked away, glancing up as the other man sat down facing her.

"My name is Cliff Schezar," he said, his manner oddly formal.

"Ah, excellent," said Meryl, pleased. This was the man who had put out the advertisement. "My name is Meryl Stryfe, and this is my partner—"

"Milly Thompson!"

"We're from the Bernadelli Insurance Company," Meryl continued. "We actually came to this town looking for you, sir." Schezar looked bemused.

"Nothing bad, I hope," he said. "My business selling water is completely legal and—"

"No, no," Meryl assured him. "We just saw your advertisement in Felnarl—"

"For Vash the Stampede," Milly added. Meryl glanced sideways, slightly annoyed but unwilling to comment and risk Milly's heart-breaking kicked-puppy face.

"Yes, and we were hoping to find him here," Meryl continued. "Our current assignment is to monitor his actions, make sure he doesn't cause too much damage, I'm sure you understand."

"Of course," Schezar said, nodding.

Meryl waited.

Schezar said nothing further.

"Well," said Meryl, hesitantly. "Is he here?"

The man laughed, saying, "He's sitting there next to you!"

Meryl actually looked, reflexively, though she knew full well what she was going to see.

The man in red was striking what he clearly thought was an impressive pose; Meryl was thoroughly _not_ impressed.

"Mr. Schezar, may I have a word with you?" Meryl asked, standing suddenly. "In private?" She had spotted a small area in the corner of the room with a conveniently placed curtain.

"Of course," said the man, his eyebrows raised.

Meryl had already crossed the room and she drew back the curtain—and gave a start. There was a young woman standing behind it, her startled eyes an odd lilac color that matched the silk gown she wore. She looked as surprised as Meryl felt.

"Uh," Meryl said blankly, still holding the curtain open, for lack of a different action.

"Ah, yes," said Schezar. "This is Miss Marianne Aura Cayzen. It's for her safety that I've hired Vash, here."

At the use of the name "Vash," Meryl remembered her indignation again and stepped back, gesturing the woman out into the main room. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the man in red stand suddenly, striking another pose. She rolled her eyes.

"Miss," said Meryl. "Please excuse us for a moment."

The woman nodded, smiling, and went to sit by Milly, who introduced herself excitedly. Meryl held the curtain until Schezar followed her, letting it drop behind him.

_Who the hell keeps a girl behind a curtain?_

"You must forgive me, I asked her to stay hidden when you came," Schezar said. "Until we could be sure you weren't a danger to us."

"Yes, whatever," Meryl said, waving his words aside. "That man is not Vash the Stampede!" she hissed, pointing behind her, ready to fly into a heated tirade about the man's questionable character and generally idiotic nature.

"Of course not," said Schezar.

"Of course—what?" Meryl stopped abruptly, thrown off her stride.

"Think about it for a minute," said Schezar, stepping closer. "I put out an advertisement wanting to hire Vash the Stampede. Anybody could show up and say he was the Humanoid Typhoon, and so long as the townsfolk and riff-raff believed it, that was all that mattered."

Meryl realized moments like this were what made her job hell—this man was purposefully touting that idiot as Vash the Stampede. No wonder there were so goddamn many descriptions. She gritted her teeth and shut her eyes tightly for a moment, one hand trying to rub out all the frustration held in the muscles of her forehead.

"And you chose _that_ idiot to be Vash the Stampede?" she demanded, throwing up her hands.

Schezar just shrugged. "He was the first to answer. He showed up with a gun; that's good enough for me." He pulled open the curtain and went to sit next to the woman, Marianne, on the couch.

There was a black cat sitting on the woman's lap, and she petted the creature and smiled to herself. It rolled onto its back and purred loudly as the woman rubbed its soft belly.

"Nyao…"

Meryl glanced at Milly suspiciously, but the younger woman seemed to be conveniently intent on the conversation between Marianne and…and…the idiot.

She didn't know what to call him. There was no way in hell she was going to call him Vash. He seemed to be hamming up the part, however.

"Now that I am here, you have nothing to fear!" he proclaimed, flexing both skinny arms (with no noticeable effect). "I am the merciless slayer of all that is good! Doer of the evil, evil deeds a man with $$60 billion on his head does!"

Meryl felt her eye twitch.

"The truth is, I needed a body guard," Schezar said, once the man in red had stopped his posturing and returned to his seat, watching Marianne with an almost sickening look of adoration on his face. Meryl looked to the other man as he spoke. "Someone tried to break in five days ago. I wouldn't worry about it if it were only my life at stake, but with Marianne here…well." He shrugged.

"Well, with Mr. Vash here, everyone should feel safe!" said Milly, smiling.

"Of course!" said the man in red. "I don't let anyone in my sights get away, and my bullets never miss their mark." He made a gun with his thumb and forefinger, closing one eye to sight down along the imaginary barrel, apparently aiming at Marianne sitting opposite him. "Especially if it's the heart of a beautiful lady." He smiled winningly at her.

Then his glance flicked sideways to Meryl and she jumped as he said, "Bang!" and showed the imaginary recoil as he shot for Marianne's heart.

The woman laughed demurely, but Meryl's own heart was racing.

_What the hell?_

He had been aiming for Marianne, but those sparkling green eyes had been staring straight into hers. Meryl was trying to make sense of it, but her attention was drawn elsewhere as she noticed that Marianne's gaze was for some reason somewhere in the area of Meryl's knees. Glancing down surreptitiously, Meryl saw the edge of her cloak had curled out slightly, revealing one side of a strip of her custom-design derringer holsters. She shifted her weight slightly and the fabric rolled forward again. Marianne's eyes darted up to meet hers and then looked quickly away.

Meryl frowned. Suddenly, something seemed very _off_ about this woman.

She hadn't been paying attention to the continued conversation and was surprised to hear her name.

"Of course Ms. Stryfe and yourself are welcome to stay as long as you like," Schezar was saying to Milly.

"Thank you," said Milly. "Our Thomas are exhausted and terribly thirsty, they need a few days to rest."

"Of course," he said again. "Make yourselves at home."

The man in red had gone back to staring at Marianne. Meryl stood there for a moment, trying to process the situation in its entirety. She and Milly were stuck there until their Thomas recuperated, with that _idiot_ now claiming to be Vash the Stampede, a conniving and manipulative businessman, and a woman that for some reason Meryl didn't trust at all.

Wonderful.


	9. Episode 2, Truth of Mistake, Part 2

Meryl would have been happy to just wander off and find a bed to collapse in (the mansion seemed to be full of empty rooms), but Milly insisted they work off their stay by making dinner for everyone. And Meryl wasn't particularly against the idea.

Of all Meryl's many domestic failings, cooking was not one. (Baking, however, was another matter entirely, so she left dessert up to Milly.) Schezar had a very well-stocked kitchen and it made for an elaborate meal. Meryl wondered how this man could afford to live so well—a mansion, a full pantry—when the town he serviced had largely disappeared. Something just didn't sit right.

But cooking always relaxed her, and she let herself forget everything but the thick soup she stirred and the vegetables steaming nearby. She was amazed to find a rack of spices in one of the taller cupboards and added some crushed basil leaves to the soup.

Once everything was prepared, Meryl didn't really mind declining an invitation to eat with the others. Marianne had asked the two women to join Schezar and the Idiot, though Meryl noticed their host had only set three places in the first place. Meryl wasn't particularly hungry anyway, and didn't think she could stand any more of the man in red playing Vash and falling all over himself trying to impress Marianne. She thought she'd rather finish cleaning up in the kitchen and take a long soak in a bath. After all, she and Milly had been stuck in the desert for the better part of a week, and she'd spent a good chunk of that time curled up next to a Thomas (and had the bruises on her elbow to prove it).

While scrubbing out the great copper pot she'd used for the soup, Meryl raised one arm and sniffed almost apprehensively at her armpit.

Eurlgh. It was a wonder Schezar let them in at all.

"I can finish up here, if you like, Ma'am," Milly said, after Meryl had let out a great sigh. She took the rinsed pot from Meryl's hands and dried it with a ragged old dish-towel.

"It's alright, Milly," Meryl replied, shaking her head. She reached for the next greasy frying pan but Milly grabbed it from the stack of dirty dishes before Meryl's fingers could even touch the handle.

"No, go ahead, Ma'am," said Milly, bumping Meryl's hip with her own to push her out of the way at the sink. It was a gentle gesture from Milly's perspective, but with Meryl's limited mass it almost sent her sprawling. "Sorry!"

"No, it's alright. And thank you," Meryl said, finally, seeing the younger woman wasn't likely to be swayed. "I appreciate it. I'll be upstairs in the bath."

Meryl untied the faded blue apron she wore and pulled it over her head, hanging it on the kitchen door's hinges where she'd found it. She wondered where Schezar's staff was. Surely he couldn't run this whole house by himself…?

Rubbing the back of her neck gingerly as she walked through the empty back hall, Meryl suddenly caught sight of Marianne slipping silently out of a room around the corner. Meryl stepped back into the shadows and Marianne seemed troubled enough not to notice her as she walked by not two yarz away.

Frowning, Meryl hurried to the same door and put her ear to the wood, listening intently. When she heard nothing, she tried the doorknob. It was unlocked, and Meryl took a peek inside. It looked to be Schezar's study; a broad desk along the wall to the left, a plush chair sitting behind it. Meryl could see one of the desk drawers was open just a fraction of an ich and wondered what Marianne had been doing in there.

Meryl heard voices nearby and closed the door hurriedly, walking away as quickly as possible.

Something just didn't feel right about that woman.

The room Meryl had chosen for herself was almost exactly in the middle of the building, her reasoning being that she would be equidistant from any possible trouble, anywhere in the mansion. She locked the door behind her and ran a bath for herself, amazed at how clean and clear the water was that ran from the tap, filling the porcelain tub in a matter of minutes.

Steam rose from the surface and Meryl walked to the window, pushing open the shutters to let out some of the humid air and try to tempt in a breeze. She put both hands on the window sill and leaned out, breathing in the cool desert air that smelled of sand and heat and loneliness and hard work and exhaustion… Meryl shook her head, trying to clear it of such depressing thoughts.

A towel was sitting on her bed across the room and Meryl stripped off her smelly clothes as quickly as she could, eager to climb into that welcoming heat and let it relax all her aching muscles. She wrapped the towel around her body, and turned toward the bath.

She almost screamed.

Someone was climbing through her window, feet first and backwards. When he turned to face the room, green eyes went wide and terrified.

"What the _fuck_ do you think you're doing?" Meryl howled. The man in red appeared to be too frightened to even speak. Meryl looked him over now and realized he had a rope tied around his waist, the other end trailing surprisingly upward outside the window, rather than down.

_He climbed down here from the roof?_

"Get out!" she shrieked, too livid to think properly. Only barely in the back of her mind did it register that she was wearing nothing more than a small towel that only _barely_ covered up the important bits.

The man in red looked still more scared every moment she stared him down.

"I'm sorry!" he was squealing. "I thought this was Miss Marianne's room!"

"Oh, because that makes it better!" Meryl said, furious. "Get out!" She crossed the room in long strides, the towel riding dangerously low across her chest as she moved. She put two small hands on the man's chest and pushed hard, putting all her weight behind it. She was delighted to see a look of total shock and disbelief on his face as he stumbled backward and fell out the window.

Meryl watched him disappear over the edge and waited for that satisfying cry of discomfort that would come once the rope went taut and caught him, hard, around the middle.

She was not disappointed.

Pulling the shutters closed as violently as possible, Meryl tried her best to calm down, feeling her nostrils flaring with each angry breath.

_I thought this was Miss Marianne's room!_

Actually, that made it considerably worse. Meryl couldn't pretend she hadn't noticed how stunning Marianne was; even more so than Milly, who was easily the most beautiful woman Meryl had ever met (though it always seem downplayed somehow under the girl's perpetual silliness).

Meryl now looked down at her reflection on the bathwater surface. Her strangely triangular face stared back, wide violet eyes taking a moment to look over her body. She was too skinny everywhere; "Hardly there at all!" as Milly would say, whenever she nearly flattened her partner accidentally (which happened fairly frequently, actually).

Goddamn it, what was wrong with her? Why the hell would she care if the Idiot would rather look in on someone else—why would she want him looking at her at all? Meryl gritted her teeth and dashed a hand through the water, the splashing and resulting ripples destroying her mirror image. She let the towel fall to the floor in a heap and climbed into the tub, drowning her troubles in the soothing warmth of the water.

The surface almost immediately skimmed over with that first layer of dust that had come loose from her skin, and Meryl rested there only a few minutes before reaching for the sponge. She scrubbed away the all the grit and troubles, her mind blissfully blank for a while as she lay with her neck resting on the edge of the tub. Meryl let her head slide under the water for a moment and then lathered her shampoo into her short hair. It was a rather expensive luxury, such nice shampoo, but she used very little at a time so it lasted her a long while, and it was the only indulgence she allowed herself in her travels.

The shampoo had a strong floral scent—or so it said, Meryl had never technically smelled a flower herself. The town she came from was so poor that no one could afford such an extravagance. Someday she hoped to live in a real city, with a community garden somewhere, with fresh fruit and vegetables, and maybe even flowers, too.

"Ma'am?"

Meryl was pulled out of her reverie by Milly's knock on the door.

"What is it, Milly?" Meryl called from the bath.

"I made some sandwiches," Milly said, through the door. "I thought you might be hungry by now."

_Amazing._

"Milly, you are wonderful," Meryl said, smiling as she imagined Milly's face going pink (as she knew it must be, by now). "I'll be out in a few minutes, why don't you take a bath first and then we can eat them together?"

"Oh, I'm already out of the bath, Ma'am," said Milly cheerfully. "I'll wait downstairs."

Damn. Meryl always forgot how quickly Milly used the facilities; she had grown up with nearly a dozen siblings, it made sense she would have learned to be speedy about it.

With a sigh, Meryl stood up and slicked her hair back, trying to squeeze out as much water as possible before stepping out of the bath and wrapping the towel around herself again. She hadn't laid out clean clothes before she ran the bath, so she chose some now from her suitcase. Really, she only had several variations on the same outfit, so she pulled on clothes almost identical to those she had stripped off earlier; deep indigo leggings under a long, fitted white tunic that buttoned down to a tapered point at her waist and then flared out again over her hips. As night was falling outside, Meryl put on the white jacket she often wore to keep warm.

Toweling her hair as dry as possible, scrubbing at her scalp with the terrycloth, Meryl yawned so broadly her jaw ached. She was getting tired, and it was still early enough that she would rather be out and patrolling the area in case of another break-in. It wasn't as though she could trust the Idiot to actually do the job, after all.

Meryl lay her cloak out flat and open on the bed. Ten narrow Thomas-hide strips ran along the length of the fabric at intervals, each with five small derringer holsters attached. She designed them herself, and had the cloak manufactured at great expense. Three years ago, most of her life savings had gone into paying for the cloak—and the weaponry it hid—but Meryl had never once regretted the decision. It had meant living in a shit-hole of an apartment and eating nothing but noodles and sad stir-fry for months on end, but it was exactly what she needed at the time. And it continued to serve her well.

Now she ran her fingers over each featherweight pistol in her small arsenal, occasionally drawing one to check for wind and sand damage from the storm. Finding everything satisfactory, Meryl finally touched the one derringer that didn't match the rest. It was old, in need of a good polishing, and Meryl hadn't fired it since the day she first put it in the holster that rested nearest her heart.

Meryl gave her pistols one more going-over and threw the cloak around her shoulders. She walked down to the main floor-level, but couldn't find Milly anywhere. Curious, she checked the kitchen and dining room and front room and was starting to get worried when she finally heard Milly calling to her as she passed a window in the back hall.

"I'm out here, Ma'am!"

Meryl could barely see through the dark as Milly was waving from the courtyard, sitting on the edge of an elaborate stone fountain. Even as Meryl found the back door (through the kitchen) to get out to meet her partner, she wondered yet again at how Schezar could afford such a waste of water. She couldn't deny it was beautiful, though, seeing now a tall spray in the middle of a stone dais in the otherwise sandy courtyard.

Meryl took the sandwich Milly offered and sat.

Salmon.

Meryl smiled; it was her favorite.

"Thank you, Milly," Meryl said, taking a bite and sighing contentedly. The younger woman's mouth was too full to respond, but she nodded emphatically by way of response.

Meryl took some time now to look around. She hadn't seen the back of the house before, and as her eyes became more accustomed to the low light she saw that the courtyard overlooked the open desert. The rolling dunes might offer some cover for anyone trying to sneak up from a distance, but at about 50 yarz from the house the terrain leveled out. It would be impossible to sneak across it unnoticed—as long as there was someone around to notice.

For a moment Meryl considered asking the man in red to help them; she and Milly couldn't keep watch by themselves, even taking shifts it would be exhausting to patrol everything. But then she thought better of it. Trusting that man was just inviting disaster.

Now that she was thinking about him, Meryl wondered where the Idiot had wandered off to. Only moments later she heard his exaggerated laugh floating down to her on the desert breeze and she glanced up. She could see him outlined through a window, standing across from Marianne, gesticulating as wildly as he had done earlier when they all sat in the front room of the mansion.

Meryl rolled her eyes and returned her attention to her dinner.

Then the hair on the back of her neck stood up and she sprang to her feet, dropping the sandwich as she spun on her heel, drawing a derringer in the instant it took her to turn, her cloak fanning out around her body in a blur.

It was dark enough that Meryl couldn't see any would-be attacker, and before she even had time to cry out and warn Milly she was slammed down into the dais surrounding the fountain. Her skull met the stone and brightly colored fireworks sparkled in the corners of her vision even in the dark.

_Shit._


	10. Episode 2, Truth of Mistake, Part 3

Meryl had been tackled to the ground, bounced backward off the stone dais and rolled over again until she lay pinned beneath her attacker, blinking and waiting for both her breath and her vision to return. Dizzy and disoriented, she struck out blindly with fists and feet, hoping to do as much damage as possible to her assailant while her senses came back under her own control.

"Get off me!" Meryl demanded in a growl, bringing her knee up hard into the man's side, trying to find enough leverage to push him off her chest. His hands seemed to be—everywhere! It took her a moment to realize he was tangling her up in her own cloak. She pulled one arm free enough to jam her elbow up into the underside of her attacker's chin. He made a choking noise and put both hands at his own throat, gurgling out a howl of agony that Meryl was quite sure such a (fairly) minor injury did not deserve.

But she was still tangled up in her cloak and the man was now sitting up, straddled across her middle. She brought that free elbow down again as hard as she could into his groin, and couldn't help thinking with some amusement that the shrieking wail of pain that escaped him at that point was entirely warranted.

He doubled over automatically, squeaking something that sounded suspiciously like "Marianne!" and Meryl shoved him off sideways. She immediately rolled onto all fours, shaking herself free of the cloak. Then she leapt toward the man, turning him onto his back and kneeling hard on his sternum, using what little weight she had to keep him satisfactorily immobile.

Meryl pressed down on his throat with one hand and pulled her other fist back, ready to strike, shouting:

"Who are—"

"You!" the man in red finished (his voice slightly higher than normal, Meryl noticed).

She smirked.

And in another moment she was crashing down to the stone again, feeling the wind knocked out of her as the man in red flipped her over as easily as though she were a stack of the reports Milly always knocked off her desk.

Meryl had barely caught her breath when she realized she was on her back, under him again. He was already wrapping her up in her own cloak, humming merrily to himself.

"You—you!" she shrieked, struggling.

"That was NOT nice," he chided her, emphasizing his words with a yank of fabric as he tied a knot in the cloak's front lapels, fixing Meryl's arms tightly to her sides.

Meryl could think of plenty of things he was doing at that moment that were "not nice," but before she could articulate any of these arguments, the man in red abruptly bent forward.

She gasped; his face was only iches away from hers, and his eyes had suddenly changed. The maddening sort of sparkle she was familiar with had been replaced with cold steel. The look in his eyes was dangerous, and it made her whole chest freeze up, unable to breathe.

"You should be more careful," he advised.

Meryl drew in air in a gasp, lungs shocked into life again. He had spoken in a voice she'd never heard before. It was low and quiet, and it matched his eyes. She could practically feel it rumbling deep inside his chest.

And then he was smiling again, that big open-mouthed grin she always found so infuriating.

And then he flicked the tip of her nose with his finger, saying, "Bang!"

And she lost it.

Meryl let out a feral scream and burst out of the shroud he had made of her cloak, with force entirely disproportionate to her size. A small, easily overlooked part of her brain cautioned that perhaps this was not a wise move, given what she had seen in his countenance just moments earlier, but apparently her perpetual annoyance at his antics was so deeply ingrained that her reaction was reflexive.

The man in red shrieked, falling back, and Meryl leapt for his throat. They met in a tangle of limbs, all elbows and knees and sharp angles, and together they rolled off the stone dais into the sand, each shouting furiously at the other.

"Get off me, get off me!" the man was yelling, trying to shield his face, slapping Meryl's fists away.

"_You_ attacked _me!_" Meryl accused, pummeling the man's knees with one hand in the attempt to free herself from his gangly-legged vice grip.

"My goodness, I had no idea you two were so close!"

Meryl and the man both froze, stuck for a moment in a horrible still-frame snapshot of the ludicrousness of their fight: one of his long legs was wrapped around Meryl's waist while the other was tangled up in her cloak, and Meryl had one hand stuck flattened between their chests and the other yanking out the hair at the side of the man's head.

Milly was looking down at them, still holding her sandwich in one hand and smiling quite happily.

Meryl pushed the man away from her with as much force as she could muster and the two of them sprang apart. Meryl scrambled to her feet, not looking at the Idiot, and made quite a show of untangling and settling her cloak again. Then she gasped.

"My derringers!" Her hands dug into the folds of her cloak and came up empty. Even as she looked around for them now, she realized she should have noticed earlier when she had been rolling around tied up in the fabric.

"Here they are!" cried the Idiot, happily.

They were hanging by the trigger guard, five on each of ten long black-gloved fingers.

"Wow," exclaimed Milly. "That's amazing, Mr. Vash!"

"What kind of bodyguard do you think I am?" he asked, overly incensed. "You think I'd just let an enemy carry around four dozen pistols?"

Meryl gritted her teeth and snatched all fifty derringers out of his hands, stowing them back in their holsters so rapidly that her skinny arms appeared as just a white blur. Her hand lingered for a moment on the oldest pistol as she tucked it into place over her heart and felt an odd sense of misplaced anger that the Idiot had dared to touch it.

She recognized that there was no way the man could know what it was or what it meant, but that didn't stop her scowling at him. But the Idiot wasn't paying attention to her anyway.

"Ooh, is that a salmon sandwich?" he asked, excitedly. He snatched Meryl's dropped sandwich from the ground and inspected it carefully, brushing off some of the sand. Then he stuffed it, whole, into his mouth before Meryl could say anything.

Meryl was standing, staring at him in disbelief—both at the fact that he would actually eat it off the ground as well as that he didn't even _ask_ her first—but he was already marching away, singing to himself through a full mouth.

"Mmm-hmm-hmm-Marianne!"

Meryl's eye twitched again.

"There's sand in your hair, Ma'am," Milly said, laughing. "May I?"

"Thank you, Milly," said Meryl, sighing. She shut her eyes tight.

Milly threaded her long fingers in Meryl's short hair and thoroughly ruffled it, sending sand flying everywhere.

It was somewhat of a lengthy process, and Meryl let her thoughts wander for a moment.

And she thought of the man in red, and his other eyes, and his other voice…

And his breath… Breath that smelled like donuts.

"What was that, Ma'am?" Milly asked, giving Meryl's scalp one more vigorous rub.

"Uh," said Meryl, trying to catch her balance after being shaken around. She didn't think she'd said anything aloud. "Nothing, Milly. Nothing."

Still, it troubled her. Meryl guessed that she had seen then what truly hid behind those yellow glasses when the man in red donned them, and facing it nose-to-nose was unsettling. He confused her entirely, and it made the muscles of her forehead ache like nothing else. Not even writing reports.

_Who the hell is that man?_

"Ma'am, do you hear that?" Milly asked, suddenly.

Meryl listened intently.

"I don't hear anything," she said, looking to Milly, confused.

"Exactly. Mr. Cliff was playing that Victrola earlier, and Miss Marianne was singing," Milly pointed out. "And now it's all gone quiet."

"Even that idiot's humming stopped," Meryl said, grimacing now. Something was definitely wrong. She could feel it in the evening air, something in the timbre of the night itself had changed. "I think we should find everyone else," she said, darkly. All the lights in the mansion were on, but no silhouettes passed over any of the windows.

Together, Meryl and Milly hurried across the courtyard and into the house. Meryl thought she had seen the Idiot go in the back door, through the kitchen, and she followed the same route quickly.

"Hey—" Meryl called out for the man in red, but stopped short, not knowing what to call him, aloud. She was saved too much effort thinking about it when Milly called, "Mr. Vash?" Pursing her lips, Meryl's first instinct was to argue, but it had worked. The Idiot's head suddenly poked around the next corner from the back hall.

"Have you seen Miss Marianne?" asked Milly and the Idiot, simultaneously. Milly giggled and the man in red flashed her a winning smile, but both shook their heads. "No," again, together. More giggling. Meryl would have given an exasperated sigh and a good eye-rolling if she wasn't starting to get seriously unnerved by the whole situation.

"What the hell is going on?" Meryl muttered, mostly to herself, under her breath. They searched the mansion, top to bottom, and still found nothing. When Meryl passed Schezar's study, she tried the door. It was locked. She absently tugged at one of her earrings, debating whether or not it was worth trying to pick the lock.

"Maybe the ghosts got her," Milly wondered, finally. She sounded half-resigned and half-worried. Meryl followed the younger woman's voice into the sitting room, where they had all first met that morning. That seemed ages ago, now…

"What, Milly?" Meryl asked, honestly not sure if she had heard the girl right. She heard hurried footsteps behind her and turned to see the Idiot standing at her back. He had been making furious cut-off gestures over her head to Milly, and when Meryl caught him he just grinned, pretending he had been doing nothing of the sort.

Meryl glared at him.

"What did you say?" she asked Milly again.

"The ghosts on the roof," the younger woman said, as though this explained everything. "Mr. Vash had been patrolling the roof, 'looking for spooks.' "

"And you would know this _how?_" Meryl demanded, through gritted teeth. She was addressing Milly, but she was again glaring at the man in red. He seemed to wither under the weight of her gaze.

"Oh, I saw him outside my window, earlier," Milly offered, cheerfully.

Meryl's eyes narrowed in fury. She thought her nostrils might have been flaring with each breath. The Idiot shrank away.

"Heh," he said, weakly. "Hers wasn't Miss Marianne's room either…" His voice trailed off.

"How _dare_ you!" Meryl shouted, anger from earlier in the evening renewed as she realized he had looked in on Milly, as he had on her.

The Idiot scrambled backward away from Meryl as she advanced on him, cracking her knuckles menacingly. His knees hit the seat of one of the plush green sofas littering the sitting room and he faltered, then climbed onto it as Meryl showed no signs of stopping.

"Time out, time out!" he wailed, waving both hands in front of his face as he leaned away from Meryl's raised fist. He let out a loud squeak as he lost his balance and fell over the back of the sofa. Long, gangly arms wind-milling, the Idiot grabbed for something, anything, to catch him from plummeting head-first to the floor. His fingers caught the end of a decorative cord hanging from the ceiling near the wall.

As his weight fell on the cord, the curtains in the corner of the room—where Marianne had been hidden that morning—slid open. For a moment, the Idiot hung there, his knees still on the back of the sofa, balancing himself with one hand still clutching the cord.

Then the cord abruptly gave another six iches under his weight, and a door concealed in the wall swung open. The trick door had matched the wall and wood paneling perfectly, completely seamless and impossible to see without knowing it was there. It opened into a long, dimly lit passage.

"Well that's interesting," Meryl said, eyebrows raised.

The Idiot was so surprised at the sudden appearance of the tunnel that he let go of the cord and toppled out of sight over the back of the sofa. When he sprang to his feet again he looked excited.

"Aha!" he said.

Surprisingly cold air blew out at them through the mouth of the tunnel, and distant voices could be heard carried out to them on the faint breeze. Suddenly there was a sharp cry, unmistakably one of pain, and Meryl and the man in red shared a brief glance. They both leapt forward immediately and there was another furious scrabble of elbows as each tried to beat the other into the tunnel.

Meryl won, one of her flailing arms striking solidly in the center of the Idiot's solar plexus, but she was soon outdistanced in the dead sprint down the tunnel. She lagged behind Milly's and the Idiot's long-legged strides, but gave a valiant effort to keep up and made it to the end of the passage only moments after they did (though she was noticeably the worse for wear, panting and bent double over a side-ache).

One glance told Meryl she was right to be wary of Schezar. She, Milly, and the Idiot stood in a great cavern, at the top of a great complex of pipes and massive storage tanks and crates. They overlooked a factory floor where machinery worked, converting water into blocks of ice for easier storage. A spillway emerged from the concrete under their feet, water cascading down a steep angle to a runnel at the floor of the cavern where Meryl could see Schezar, standing over a figure—it must be Marianne, she realized.

The woman's long blonde hair was pulled back in a severe bun and she lay on the floor on her side, gripping her right shoulder. She wore a dark red jumpsuit, and Meryl could see even from this distance that whatever injury Marianne had sustained was bleeding through, a darkening splotch on the fabric growing larger with each passing moment. She needed help.

But how was Meryl supposed to get down there? She couldn't see any stairs, or even a ladder leading down. There was some kind of gated elevator near the mouth of the tunnel, but Schezar would surely hear it even if she and Milly could manage to hot-wire it quickly enough.

The conversation below was audible now, if only barely.

"I should have known it was you," Schezar was saying. "I knew there was something wrong with you from the start." Meryl's breath caught in her throat as he raised the gun and pointed it straight for Marianne's forehead. But he stopped suddenly. "What's this?" he asked. Schezar stepped forward and Marianne recoiled as he reached down to rip something from the front of her jacket.

Meryl saw the object glint in the dim underground lighting as Schezar turned it over in his fingers.

"A Marshal, eh?"

_Marshal?_

Meryl felt a small, sudden stab of jealousy in her gut, but she quashed it just as quickly.

"They must be desperate," Schezar went on, laughing. "To be recruiting kids."

"You won't get away with this," Marianne growled, wincing and gripping her injured shoulder.

"Won't I?" he asked, raising one eyebrow. His face split in a cruel grin. "Once I kill you, who's to know?"

At this, Meryl knew she had to act, some way or another, before Schezar could make good on that threat.

Apparently the Idiot took this as his cue as well. "_Bonsai!_" he shouted gleefully, diving head-first into the spillway.

Oh god_damn_ it.


	11. Episode 2, Truth of Mistake, Part 4

Both Schezar and Marianne looked up as the Idiot shouted and leapt into the spillway. Meryl grabbed Milly and yanked her back around the corner and out of sight. She swore through her teeth.

_Idiot! Idiot, Idiot, Idiot!_

"We need to get down there, now!" Meryl hissed to Milly.

A gunshot echoed through the cavern and both women gasped and flung themselves around the corner again. Everything seemed frozen for a moment and Meryl held her breath, not at all sure what had happened.

A high-pitched scream reached her ears—_Marianne?_ No, the woman was still propped up on one elbow, staring open-mouthed at the Idiot. It _was_ the Idiot, Meryl realized. She felt a sudden stab of fear; was he shot? She couldn't much stand the man, but she didn't want him dead.

No, he seemed fine, but then…

"I don't understand, what happened?" Milly voiced Meryl's thoughts.

"You—you _dodged the bullet?_" Schezar demanded, sounding shocked.

He did _what?_

"Damn you!" Schezar shouted, opening fire again.

"We have to get down there!" Meryl said, turning and desperately searching for some means to do so. Her eyes fell on the gated elevator at the mouth of the tunnel and she ran to it. It was locked out by a wiring box with a code pad on the wall, about her shoulder-height. No time for finesse here… Meryl stepped out of the way and pointed at the box.

"Milly—"

"Way ahead of you, Ma'am," said Milly, already hefting her stun-gun over her head. She brought the heavy weapon down hard to smash into the control box. Meryl shielded her face as sparks burst from the resulting exposed wiring in the wall.

The elevator gates slid open immediately, if somewhat jerkily, and they hurried inside. The cavern seemed to have only two levels and Meryl jabbed at the "GROUND" button. As the doors jerked shut again, Meryl heard shouting and the sudden rapid-fire report of another weapon.

"Shit!" Meryl said, slamming her palm repeatedly on the button. Her stomach leapt unexpectedly into her throat as the floor seemed to disappear beneath her feet, and she wondered if maybe she _shouldn't_ have been so abusive to the button after all. But the elevator car around them slowed from a plummet to a fairly smooth stop at the bottom of the shaft and Meryl and Milly pulled the gates open and ran out to the factory floor.

Meryl's stomach did another quick flop as she inexplicably lost her balance again. Only by Milly's quick reflexes did she not end up on the ground, held up in the younger woman's strong grip.

"What the—"

The floor was covered in ice chips. A flash of red in the corner of her vision and Meryl turned to see the Idiot sprinting and leaping around the factory floor as Schezar fired—_something_ at him, she couldn't tell what, but it was putting out a hell of a lot of bullets. Bricks of ice that had been stacked neatly along the wall were decimated into chunks or chips that spilled out all over the floor as Schezar's bullets tore into them.

Several yarz away, Marianne was still on the ground, now flat on her stomach, covering her head with her arms. Blood was starting to pool around her shoulder. Meryl had started to run toward the injured woman, but the Idiot was suddenly running (jumping, skipping, bouncing) in their direction and Schezar's aim turned to follow him.

"Milly, down!" Meryl shouted, and they both dropped to the floor, just in time. Bullets screamed over their heads and tore into the elevator's controls and open car. The machinery gave a pathetic whine and went dead.

Meryl wriggled across the floor on her stomach, elbows and knees slipping for purchase in the scattered ice, until she reached Marianne's side.

"Are you alright, Miss Marianne?" Milly asked, arriving at Meryl's elbow a moment later.

"It's—_ah_—" Marianne winced. "Pretty bad."

Meryl watched the woman's lilac eyes follow the Idiot's progress around the cavern, her lips pressed tight together and her expression one of complete incomprehension.

"Who…who the hell _is_ this guy?" she asked Meryl.

"I wish to God I knew," Meryl replied, shaking her head. She helped Marianne sit up, careful not to jar her shoulder. Milly was already forming a makeshift sling from the marshal's jacket, leaving the injured arm in its sleeve and using the other to wrap around and hold it in place.

A series of clicking noises and resounding silence caught Meryl's attention.

"Goddamn you!" Schezar howled, out of ammunition. The Idiot was still in one piece, still standing, now grinning.

"I've protected your guest, as requested," he said, sweeping Schezar a grand bow. He then looked over to where the three women crouched together, giving them all a thumbs up. Milly returned the gesture. Meryl still had it in her to be annoyed at his cheek, but Marianne gasped suddenly and Meryl looked up from tending the woman's wound.

Some of Schezar's stray bullets had strafed one of the larger pieces of machinery during the one-sided gunfight and Meryl could see some of the plating knocked loose, inner workings mangled, wiring sparking as lively as the elevator controls had been on the upper level.

"You have _got_ to be kidding me," breathed Meryl, eyes wide in disbelief.

"That—that's going to explode!" Schezar stammered, suddenly terrified. "That's the generator for the whole plant, if it—"

"Right, got it," Meryl interrupted, flooring the small man with a well-placed kick to the chest. She had heard all she needed at "explode." She looked up at the Idiot, asking, "Would you find something to tie him up with, please?"

The Idiot came to rigid attention and gave Meryl a salute before running off.

"But how do we get out?" Milly asked, worriedly. She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. "The elevator's fried."

"There's a way," Marianne began, panting slightly as Milly helped her carefully to her feet.

The Idiot reappeared with a length of rope and set about hog-tying Schezar, which did more than a little to ingratiate him some to Meryl.

Marianne nodded toward one end of the cavern, saying, "There's a tunnel entrance, a closed tunnel that drops down and levels out, back behind the last freezer."

"That's not a tunnel, that's the lake valve!" Schezar choked out from the ground. "Once the generator blows and takes out the water storage tanks, that'll drown us all! You idiot bitch, you think—"

"_Gag_ him," Meryl growled, pointing furiously at Schezar. The Idiot looked pleased enough to comply and produced a grungy-looking sock from nowhere—_what?_—rolled it into a ball, and stuffed it into Schezar's mouth. The small man's face was turning about as red as the Idiot's jacket in his fury.

"About two hundred yarz from this entrance there's an access ladder that leads right up to the surface," Marianne continued. "I found it six days ago, it's how I got in here tonight." She let out a sharp cry as she jarred her shoulder. "Hell of a long climb, though," she muttered.

"It's alright, Miss Marianne," Milly assured her. "I can carry you, when we get there."

"I could carry her," the Idiot piped up, hopefully. He quailed under Meryl's scathing gaze. "Err…right. Nevermind. I'll carry him, then, shall I?" He pointed to Schezar.

Meryl nodded and the Idiot sighed resignedly, hefting Schezar over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. There was a particularly loud sizzling noise from the generator, then a _pop!_ before it started smoking. Meryl winced. "Let's get the hell out of here," she said, ushering the whole group in the direction Marianne had pointed.

They made it across the factory floor without too much difficulty, though Meryl did slip on the ice once while trying to help Marianne through a particularly cluttered area. She landed hard on her ass and bit back an oncoming string of swear words. The Idiot bent to help her to her feet on his way past, which Meryl would have appreciated more if he weren't giggling quite so loudly at her. She scowled. Her forehead ached.

When Marianne had said the tunnel "dropped," she had meant it.

"How did you even get out of there?" Meryl asked, looking down into the opening. It was pitch black, and what little light filtered down from the cavern showed a steep incline down into darkness.

"It's not that bad," Marianne said, gasping. "It's only down about seven or eight feet before it levels off."

"Only," muttered Meryl. Marianne was a foot taller than she was.

"I'll go down first and help you," Milly said. She clambered down and disappeared from sight. "Oh, it isn't so bad, I see." Her voice echoed back to them. "Miss Marianne, sit down at the edge and I'll catch you."

Meryl helped the woman to sit, and the Idiot came suddenly forward. He let Schezar fall unceremoniously from his shoulder and the bound and gagged man collapsed to the floor with a grunt and muffled cry of protest.

"Here," said the Idiot, kneeling. Meryl stepped back, surprised at his more level voice and (for once) non-comical expression. He grasped Marianne under the arms and lifted her off the edge, lowering her down until Milly could catch her waist and lower her the rest of the way. Meryl was impressed.

"Gah!" Marianne shouted suddenly. "You—!"

Meryl could see the woman's face turn back up to them for a moment before she disappeared into the dark, and she looked furious.

"Sorry!" called the Idiot, back to his usual idiotic grin. "My hand slipped!"

"Ma'am, you next!" called Milly, apparently oblivious to the exchange.

Meryl's eyes darted sideways to the Idiot.

"Your hands better not wander this time, or you will _lose one,_" Meryl threatened. The Idiot actually laughed, genuinely. It was the first time Meryl had ever heard it, and it surprised her.

He put both hands out palms-up and shrugged. Meryl figured that was the best assurance she was going to get and sat down on the edge. She tensed slightly as his touch, but he lifted her as easily as though she were a kitten and handed her down to Milly without incident.

Glad to find herself with both feet on the ground again, without being groped on the way down, Meryl turned to call up to the Idiot. He spoke before she could.

"Catch!" he called down, happily. There was a looming shape silhouetted in the light from above and Meryl squinted for a half-second before realizing the Idiot had just pitched Schezar down at her. She jumped out of the way just in time and Milly caught the man before he hit the ground.

"Mr. Vash!" Milly said, reproachfully. As the Idiot jumped down to join the rest of them, the ground shook in a sudden tremor and there was a series of clanking noises and small explosions from above.

"Hurry!" said Marianne, sharply. Meryl started jogging down toward the woman's voice even before her eyes adjusted to the dark. There was absolutely no light to be had, and she could only pray they didn't come up against some obstacle with no warning. Then a light burst to life, bright on her face, and she winced at the glare and shielded her eyes.

"Here, I have a flashlight," said someone, helpfully. Meryl couldn't see, still blinded, but she recognized the Idiot's voice. Meryl snatched the light out of his hands as her vision returned and pointed it toward Marianne. The marshal waved them all forward with her good hand and the Idiot scooped up Schezar again.

Their party moved at a hurried jog, not quite a run, limited to the injured woman's pace. Meryl could see a look of mingled pain and concentration set on Marianne's face, her teeth gritted together as the movement jarred her shoulder. Meryl took a moment to look at their surroundings. The cold, smooth metal walls on either side curved up and over their heads—inside a great iron pipe, she realized, tall enough for the Idiot to stand comfortably with a few iches to spare.

After several minutes Marianne stopped in her tracks and Meryl nearly bumped into her, darting sideways at the last moment, trying desperately not to touch the woman's injury.

"It must be around here," said Marianne, her face upturned. "The shaft leading up, it can't be far from here."

"I found it!" Milly said, excitedly. Meryl turned her flashlight on the younger woman and Milly pointed straight up.

Meryl hurried over. She craned her neck high to look up the service shaft and could see two moons shining nearly full in the sky. They lent some faint glow that lit the sides of the shaft and the iron rungs leading upward and Meryl gulped. She turned the flashlight skyward and the beam of light was swallowed up before it could reach the top.

"That _is_ a hell of a climb," she said, unsure even what her estimate of the height might be. Even the moonlit circle of the mouth of the shaft didn't give her much of an idea.

"Took me almost five—ah!—five minutes coming down," Marianne said, clutching her shoulder. "But now with my shoulder, and him tied up…"

"We can untie him," Meryl said, thinking quickly. "We'll lash you to Milly's back with the rope, and just make Schezar climb up on his own. Between two of us," she added. "So he can't go anywhere."

"Good plan, Ma'am," Milly agreed. "Mr. Vash, will you help us?"

"My pleasure, ladies!" cried the Idiot. He grabbed one end of the rope binding Schezar and yanked upwards. The man unrolled like a yo-yo until he fell heavily on the iron floor of the great pipe, groaning around the sock-gag.

Meryl set the flashlight down to spill light out on their feet, at least, and helped the Idiot tie Marianne to Milly's back, doing her best not to further injure the woman.

"Ow, Vash! Please, be careful," Marianne asked, flinching as the Idiot cinched the rope around her tightly enough to keep her in place. Meryl gaped at her: she called him _Vash?_ Still? _Him?_

"S-sorry, Miss Marianne!" blubbered the Idiot, suddenly in tears.

"Shut up!" Meryl snapped, picking up the flashlight again and pointing it down the direction they had come. She had heard something… "Just get it done, carefully. And quick."

A few more minutes and Marianne was secure, if not comfortably so. "Ma'am, I think we better go first," Milly said, making sure the other woman was settled across her back.

"Yes, good, then Schezar—" began Meryl

"Then you," said Marianne to Meryl, severely, though she was staring angrily at Schezar.

"Then me," Meryl allowed, nodding.

"Then Vash," finished Marianne.

"Then Va—er, _him,_" Meryl agreed. The Idiot seemed to have caught her near-slip and grinned at her. She glared back. Milly reached up for the bottom rung of the ladder and the Idiot started forward, as though to offer some assistance. Then he stepped back, eyebrows raised and clearly impressed as he watched Milly haul herself (and Marianne) up by only her arms. Reaching high enough to pull up her knees, Milly found her footing on the lowest rung and straightened, looking back down.

"Alright!" she called, smiling and waving down. "We'll see you topside!" Meryl nodded. Then she turned her attention on Schezar.

"You," said Meryl, pointing at the man. "Up."

Schezar was on his feet now, having thrown aside the sock (though by his expression he could clearly still taste it). He looked up to where Milly and Marianne had disappeared. Over his head, the Idiot seemed to be suppressing giggles with some difficulty.

"And how the hell am I supposed to get up there, do you reckon? Fly?" Schezar demanded, sarcasm dripping from each word.

"Here," said the Idiot, having managed to compose himself again, and Schezar turned. He was bent down slightly, offering the smaller man his cupped hands. "Step in, I'll give you a boost." Schezar looked disgusted, but he put a foot in the Idiot's hands, bracing himself on red-clad shoulders before reaching high for the first rung of the ladder. "Ack!" said the Idiot, as Schezar stepped on his face to push himself higher. Meryl turned loud laughter abruptly into a sudden cough.

"_Ahem_, sorry," she said, beating one hand on her chest. "Inhaled something funny." The Idiot looked at her suspiciously but Meryl was already looking up the shapes of Milly, Marianne, and Schezar ascending the ladder. She turned off the flashlight to hand it to the Idiot again and saw that the three figures above them were blocking out a good chunk of the moonlight. She glanced sideways to the Idiot. His eyes seemed to sparkle back at her.

"Ladies first," he said, sweeping a bow so low his nose almost touched his feet. He straightened, and gave Meryl a wide grin.

The lowest rung was about ten iches out of her reach.

"Well—" Meryl stopped short. She wanted nothing _less_ at this moment than to have to ask the Idiot for a boost. He was watching her, expectantly. Meryl took a deep breath, about to force herself to choke out the request, but there was a sudden flash of light from the end of the pipe, from the direction they had come. By the time the Idiot had turned to face it, everything had gone dark again.

Meryl had time only to register a rushing sound, coming fast, before she felt the Idiot's hands grab her around the waist and_ throw her five feet in the air_. Adrenaline suddenly pumping through her veins, Meryl caught the highest ladder rung she could reach, managing to find purchase with only one hand, her fingers slipping on the rusty iron and wrenching her shoulder painfully as she fell heavily on it. She scrambled to get both hands and feet up on the rungs and stared straight down. Water had filled the pipe in an instant, rushing past below her and barely reflecting broken images of the moons above.

The man in red had leapt up after her but had only reached the third rung, most of his body still stuck in the flow of water coursing through the larger pipe, threatening to pull him under at any moment and wash him away. Meryl stared down in open-mouthed horror. His face turned up to hers and in the dim moonlight Meryl saw his green eyes flash desperately up at her, making her heart practically stop dead in her chest.

_No!_


	12. Episode 2, Truth of Mistake, Part 5

_No!_

Meryl climbed down the ladder again as far as she could, hunkering low with her knees bent up almost to her chest. Cold water sprayed up over her from where it hit the man in red, forcing his chest into the side of the access shaft. Meryl clung to a rung above her head with her left hand and reached down with the other.

"Give me your hand!" she shouted over the sound of the water. She could see him glance up at her again and she was surprised to see no fear in his eyes, only determination.

His teeth were gritted tightly together and with a monumental effort he pulled himself up, the biceps of his skinny arms straining against the sleeves of the red jacket. One hand shot up and closed around the next rung. Another few iches and he'd be within her reach.

"Come on!" Meryl called desperately, wishing she knew his name. _"Come on, you Idiot!"_ didn't inspire quite as much confidence as she would have wanted. "Just a little farther!" She reached her own hand as far as she could, imagining the joints in her wrist, elbow, shoulder stretching just a little more, enough to make her arm just a little bit longer. _Come on!_ She willed her fingers to reach out farther, farther…

Grunting in his effort, the man in red hauled himself up again, slowly, fighting the steady pull of the water. Sharp green eyes met Meryl's and one hand reached up toward her, shaking, unsteady. Her fingers clasped at his, but the wet leather of his glove was slick against her skin and she couldn't keep hold of him.

_No, damn it!_

Meryl let her right foot slide off the ladder rung she stood on, bracing it against the wall below her and giving her just a little more reach as she turned her body out toward him. Her heart swelled as she caught his hand and managed to get a firm grip.

"Hold on," she called. "I've got you…"

A sudden surge in the water's flow pulled at the man in red and yanked him back down forcefully. Meryl's left hand was wrenched unexpectedly loose from the rung she held. Terrified, she slapped her palm down on the next rung of the ladder and caught it, but not before the man had slipped out of her grasp.

No, he hadn't slipped, he had _let go._ She saw it, his eyes had widened when her fingers came loose and _he let go of her hand_.

"No!" Meryl shouted. The man had caught himself on his arms again, but he was back down farther than arm's length away. She reached out again with an even more precarious hold on the lower rung. "Take my hand, damn it!" He was gasping, strength clearly waning. "Please—" _You? Idiot? Man in Red?_

Another sudden surge in the rush of water pulling him down knocked his hold loose, and Meryl watched him fall, vanishing into the coursing water below.

"_Vash!_" she screamed.

But wait—somehow his left hand had managed to grab hold of the last ladder rung at the last second, before he slid away entirely. The black-gloved fingers gripping the iron bar were all Meryl could see and somehow she couldn't really believe they were there. She was almost sure the force of the water must have just ripped his arm off entirely and swept the rest of him away.

It had happened too quickly, and though some rational part of her told herself repeatedly there was nothing she could do, the last few moments were playing on a loop in her mind. What if her hand hadn't slipped—if she hadn't—why did he _let go?_

And then suddenly he was there, again, somehow. His head reappeared, soaking wet blonde hair somehow still managing to be fairly bristly and not plastered completely to his skull. The man in red took in great gulps of air, his eyes wide, and his right hand shot up out of the water, reaching for the highest rung possible.

Meryl found she had been holding her breath and took in a sharp gasp. Throwing caution to the wind, she climbed down another two rungs and perched with just one foot on the side of the rung the man's right hand clung to, careful to leave him room for a good grip. She wasn't going to risk him letting go of a solid hold again and she crouched down and bent low to take a fistful of the red fabric of his jacket's sleeve, near the shoulder.

The seams barely strained against her efforts but it seemed to be helping. The man in red pulled himself up another few iches, letting out a growl as his fingers closed around the rung near Meryl's knees. Meryl got her hand under his arm and put as much weight as she could behind her continual pull upward. Her aching left hand was going numb, fingers holding tightly to the iron bar behind her, and she prayed it would hold.

One more gargantuan effort and he pulled himself high enough to lift a knee out of the water and scrabble for purchase with one heavy boot on the lowest ladder rung.

"Yes," breathed Meryl, certain they were moments from safety. She managed to put her hand under his arm and around his back, barely, the tips of her fingers curling over his bony shoulder blade. "Come on—"

His boot slipped.

Time seemed to slow to an agonizing crawl; Meryl saw each moment in horrifying detail. The man's right hand had been tugged loose from the weight suddenly no longer supported by his foot. With Meryl's arm around his back he dragged her down too, her fingers yanked painfully from the rung above her head. As though in slow-motion, she scrabbled blindly behind her for some hold, _anything_, but found none.

_Oh, god._

Meryl stared down at the man in red as she fell and was shocked to see none of her own terror mirrored in his face. Only determination.

He shouted a wordless cry that rang loudly in her ears and flung his free hand up. He must have connected with something because Meryl crashed into his chest without sending them both sprawling down into the rushing water waiting to swallow them up. Instinctively, Meryl just wrapped both arms around him and held on for dear life. One of the man's knees knocked into hers as he got his footing on the lowest rung and straightened, pulling her up with him.

Then he was flattening her, her back pressed painfully into the metal rungs. Her feet dangled, iches from the nearest foothold; he was holding her up, pinned to the ladder. Soaking wet and shaking, he kept gulping for air and his chest heaved against hers, making derringers and iron rungs dig into her spine. She could hardly notice, at this point. Water from his jacket was soaking through the front of her shirt and her sleeves as she gripped him tightly around the middle.

She turned her head to the side, pressing her cheek into the wet fabric of his jacket collar as she gripped him still more tightly, unsure whether she was trying to brace him or herself.

"Jesus fuck," she whimpered, suddenly realizing how close they had both come to drowning. She couldn't even swim, for Christ's sake.

"Are you alright?" he asked, between panting breaths. She almost laughed.

"Am _I_—?" She stopped short when she looked up, seeing his eyes. They were those _other_ eyes again and though the look he gave her was severe, it wasn't dangerous. It was concerned and relieved at the same time, and it was intense. "I'm fine," she whispered. Again, inanely, she noted the smell of donuts as his breath came in quick gasps, blowing down on her face in rapid puffs. "Are _you_ alright?" she asked him in return.

He only nodded, then let his eyes fall shut as he rested his forehead briefly on the rung above her head, breathing heavily, collecting himself.

And then he was looking down at her again and that maddening sparkle reappeared in his eyes.

"You called me Vash," he said, grinning.

"I did not!" Meryl shouted, shrilly. She pulled her feet up behind her until she found the next rung and hooked the low heels of her boots over it, letting go of her hold on the Idiot's torso so she could push him away—carefully—enough to stand. He laughed at her, letting his arms go straight, leaning back to give her room. Meryl turned around within the circle of the Idiot's arms, facing the ladder and scrambling upward as quickly as she could. She could still hear him giggling below her and she ground her teeth together so forcefully her jaw ached like mad by the time she reached the surface.

Milly was near hysterics.

"What happened?" she demanded, hauling Meryl out of the pipe by the scruff of her neck and patting her down all over as though making sure her partner was still in one piece.

"I'm alright," Meryl assured Milly, though she didn't elaborate. She walked a few paces and then just sat in the sand, trying to catch her breath. The fiery glow of the desert sunrise was already starting to dry her out, but adrenaline was still making her body shake slightly.

The Idiot emerged from the pipe and collapsed onto the ground next to Meryl, flat on his back, arms and legs flung out wide.

"Whew," he said finally, breathing out in a sigh. "I'm never taking a bodyguarding job again."

Glancing to her left, Meryl saw that Marianne-the-marshal had Schezar tied up again. Milly had done a more thorough job of caring for Marianne's shoulder during the time Meryl and the Idiot had been stuck below and the marshal looked as though the injury was no longer bothering her at all. Milly always did have a healing touch, Meryl was quite aware…

"Would you look at that," said Milly. The younger woman sounded almost awed and Meryl looked back over her shoulder without standing up. She could see now that they were at the top of the giant shallow bowl carved out of the rock where the town lay, looking down on the deserted homes and buildings below. Meryl stood and walked to the edge, looking down.

All the houses were submerged in water, up to the second-story windows. The whole area looked like a vast lake, the likes of which Meryl had never seen—or even heard of. It seemed incredible to her that so much water existed, could exist, in one place at one time.

"My god…" Her words escaped on a breath as she imagined herself and the man in red swept through the great pipe and spit out somewhere down there. Dead.

"It's alright," said Marianne, evidently thinking Meryl's comment was in reference to the destruction below them. "All the dammed water overflowed all at once, that's all. It'll return underground and make the town prosper again." Fierce pride seemed to glow in the woman's eyes. "I'm sure everyone who left will come back, when they hear."

Marianne turned to face the Idiot.

"Thank you," she said, sounding genuinely grateful. The Idiot beamed, but deflated slightly when Marianne continued, "You're an idiot, but you did save my life." Meryl smothered a grin and looked down, conveniently distracted by the need to brush some sand from her leggings.

"It was just a series of incredibly dumb luck," Meryl commented, glancing up again. The Idiot's eyes met hers for a moment and instead of being angry or hurt—or near tears, as she imagined—they seemed to smile down at her. She was unnerved.

"And the bullet-dodging, that was dumb luck too?" Marianne asked, wryly.

"Heh," said the Idiot, giving a big, fake-innocent grin and rubbing his neck self-consciously. "More like…a fluke accident."

"Hmm," said Marianne, nodding, thoughtful. "If you knew what you were doing, I'd probably be convinced that you _were_ Vash the Stampede."

Milly giggled and Meryl's eyes widened.

_What?_

"And if I was?" asked the Idiot, smiling lop-sidedly.

"I'd arrest you," Marianne dead-panned.

The Idiot sighed heavily.

"I have to thank you two as well," said Marianne, turning to address Meryl and Milly. "If you hadn't come along, I'd still be bleeding on that floor. Er," she stopped, looking out over the drowned town. "Or down there somewhere."

"I'm glad you're alright, Miss Marianne," Milly said, nodding. Meryl did as well.

"You must be glad your job is done," she said, trying not to sound resentful. "We're back to square one." She glanced at the Idiot, who had wandered off several yarz and couldn't seem to decide on a single direction to wander further.

Milly rested a hand on Meryl's shoulder and squeezed. "Don't let it get to you, Ma'am," she said, comfortingly. The taller woman smiled down at her partner.

"Are you leaving, already?" Marianne was asking after the Idiot. He appeared to have chosen due south as his heading and was walking away.

"My work here is done!" he called back in an overblown and rather pompous voice. He waved a hand without turning.

"Hmm," said Marianne, again, watching the Idiot's retreating back. Meryl watched a smile tug at the corners of the woman's mouth. "The nameless bodyguard," Marianne mused, raising her eyebrows slightly. "He isn't bad. A girl could fall for him."

Meryl nearly choked.

"_What?_" she said, gaping open-mouthed. "But he—" _is an idiot, irresponsible, saved my life_ "—how—_what?_"

"You have no eye for men," Marianne told Meryl resignedly, laughing slightly as she shook her head.

"_Excuse_ me?" Meryl sputtered. The other woman patted her on the shoulder.

"Someday, you'll see. I get that feeling," she said, smiling wryly. Her gaze seemed to glance up over Meryl's head. Meryl turned to see Milly inexplicably wearing the same expression, inclining her head a fraction of an ich as a nod to the marshal.

"Don't let it get to you, Ma'am," Milly said again, her smile dangerously close to a smirk.


	13. Episode 3, Peace Maker, Part 1

Warrens was a nice, clean town, which Meryl always appreciated. And for once, there was a decent café.

"How is your banana sundae, Ma'am?" Milly asked her.

"D'lshs," Meryl said enthusiastically, mouth full. Milly laughed.

They sat outside on the patio, enjoying dessert without a meal first, which Milly seemed to think was almost scandalous. Meryl was watching the townspeople walking across the streets, talking to shop owners and neighbors, and watching children play in the small square that the café overlooked.

Meryl was glad of the chance just to sit and do nothing. She had justified the dessert-before-meal to Milly as a much deserved rest after their rocky two-and-a-half ile hike down into the town. Her boots were designed to cover almost any terrain without problems, but she had become used to the flatlands again and now her feet were aching a little at the sudden change in landscape in their travels.

Scooping out the last of the nearly-melted ice cream from the bottom of the dish in front of her, Meryl's thoughts turned back to business. The notebook in her pocket had finally become a source of almost unbearable annoyance, as page after page filled with conflicting information from eye-witness accounts of Vash the Stampede. There now existed nothing—_nothing_—consistent between all the descriptions of the man.

"Okay, forget what he looks like," Meryl said, rubbing her forehead as she set her spoon down on the table. "From now on we just look for a gunslinger with the skills."

"Yes Ma'am!" said Milly cheerfully. "We'll just investigate circumstances, not sightings."

Meryl realized she had continued her train of thought aloud, speaking up apropos of nothing, and was glad Milly seemed to have picked up on the cognitive jump as well.

_That girl is much quicker on the uptake than she seems…_

"Oh, look," Milly spoke again, sitting up straighter in her chair and waving to someone behind Meryl. "Hi, Mr. Vash!"

Meryl was glad she had already finished her sundae because she knocked over the glass dish with her elbow in her hurry to turn around at Milly's words.

Across the street, a man with bristly blond hair and a red jacket looked about as much surprised to see Meryl as she was to see him. After a moment, he waved back to Milly.

"Oh, hello!" said the Idiot, brightly. He looked at Meryl over the rims of his round, yellow glasses. "Ah, still on insurance business?"

"Er—yes," Meryl replied, startled into conversing.

"Keep up the good work!" he called, walking on with another wave.

Meryl sat confused for a moment. _What an odd interaction…_ When she turned in her seat to face Milly again, the younger woman looked at her expectantly.

"What?" Meryl asked, after a moment.

"He answered when I called him Mr. Vash, didn't he?" said Milly.

"But you _always_ call him that!" Meryl said, exasperated. "That doesn't mean anything!"

"But Mr. Vash is here, the same time there are rumors the Humanoid Typhoon is in town," Milly pointed out. Then she added, "Again."

"He's not Vash the Stampede!" said Meryl, trying to keep herself from shouting.

Milly just gave Meryl a look, raising her eyebrows.

"And about those rumors. I want to talk to the sheriff," Meryl said decisively, standing. Milly followed suit. "I want to hear if he's caught wind of the same thing, and what he thinks of it."

"Yes, Ma'am," agreed Milly. "I didn't see the sheriff's office on the way in, did you?"

"No," said Meryl, frowning. It was practically a one-street town and they had come from the other end to reach the café here near the edge of the desert again. "It must be near here, then."

But it wasn't anywhere further down the street. They checked around the secondary streets, even out into the smaller, more residential areas with still no luck.

"I don't understand," said Meryl, puzzled. Her forehead muscles started to ache as she frowned again, pursing her lips.

"Well, let's talk to the mayor," Milly offered. "Town hall was right across the square from the café."

"Good idea," Meryl agreed. She followed Milly back to the main square, where there seemed to be some kind of commotion. Something was drawing a sizable crowd in front of the town's only saloon. Curious, Meryl moved toward the crowd and motioned Milly to follow her. Unlike Milly, she was nowhere near tall enough to see over the heads of most of the on-lookers, so Meryl had to strategically elbow her way to the front, being gentle enough not to upset anyone and still forceful enough to get herself through.

It was the Idiot. He was on the ground, stuck wrestling with another man, and for a moment Meryl couldn't be sure what was happening.

"Buy me a drink!" the other man was shouting, his words slurred to the point that Meryl was quite sure he didn't need another drink.

"Get off me!" shrieked the Idiot, trying to push the other man away. He suddenly spotted Meryl in the crowd and his green eyes went almost painfully wide. "It's you!" he cried, relieved. "Quick! Help me!"

Meryl just rolled her eyes and turned to make her way back through the crowd again.

"Wait!" the Idiot was screaming. "Wait! Don't leave me here! _Help!_"

"Was that Mr. Vash?" Milly asked curiously when Meryl returned.

"No," said Meryl.

Meryl climbed the steps up to the town hall two at a time to keep up with Milly's long strides. Inside, a wizened old man sitting behind a desk looked up wearily at their entrance. When Meryl asked for the mayor, he pointed them toward a door to their left. The door was open, and Meryl knocked on the wood frame.

"Excuse me," she called, peering inside. "Mr. Mayor?"

"That's me!" said the round man behind the desk at the far end of the room, looking up at Meryl's voice. He was balding on top, wisps of frizzy black hair still sticking out strangely on either side above his ears. He smiled amiably enough, and gestured the two women into his office, straightening his bow tie.

Milly closed the door behind them and Meryl watched the mayor pull an ornate pipe from a drawer and light it, puffing happily. He looked them over, clearly trying to guess their occupation or at least ascertain their reason for being there. The man didn't give any outward appearance of puzzlement, but he didn't open with any guesses.

"What can I do for you, ladies?"

The room was warm and Meryl realized with a glance around that there were no fans running anywhere, either above their heads or in the corners. The mayor had an interesting collection of ceramic plates and jugs, she noticed, but no means of cooling the room. The man himself was sweating in his suit, the dome of his bald head shining, but he didn't seem to be too bothered by the heat.

"My name is Meryl Stryfe, and this is my partner—"

"Milly Thompson!"

"We work for the Bernadelli Insurance Company," Meryl continued, in their usual litany.

"In what capacity?" the man asked curiously.

"Uh," Meryl said, thrown slightly. That wasn't normally the query that followed the litany. "We're disaster investigators," she explained.

"Really?" said the mayor. He looked genuinely surprised by this. "You ladies?"

There was an odd emphasis on _ladies_ that Meryl didn't like. She frowned.

"Yes," Meryl said, rather more icily than she meant to. "And we are here because we have heard rumors that Vash the Stampede might be in the area." The man looked skeptical at best. "We are assigned to make sure he doesn't cause any injuries or property damage."

"You two are supposed to keep an eye on the Humanoid Typhoon?" the mayor asked, his tone now openly incredulous as one of his eyebrows lifted.

The man's slight on her and Milly, so severely intended or not, grated on Meryl. "Yes," she ground out. "I wanted to talk to your sheriff, but we can't seem to find—"

"We don't have one," the mayor interrupted, looking slightly amused.

Meryl spluttered to a stop. "_What?_"

"This is such a tiny town!" the man said, laughing and sweeping his arms wide open as though encompassing all of Warrens in one gesture. "Nothing important will ever happen here, all we have to worry about are the occasional overzealous drunks!"

Still a little thrown, Meryl said again, "You don't have a _sheriff?_"

"No!" repeated the mayor, surprised at her surprise. "Why, are _you_ interested in the job?" The question ended in laughter so raucous that Meryl had to guess at the last word. Her nostrils flared and she let out a low breath in a rush. _Enough._

Milly's hand closed over Meryl's shoulder and squeezed, hard.

"Thank you for your time, sir," Milly said to the mayor, and though her voice was cheerful her grip on Meryl's shoulder was severe enough to make the smaller woman cringe. "I'm afraid we have to go now." Meryl allowed Milly to steer her out of the Mayor's office with a curt farewell through her teeth.

"What was that about?" Meryl asked, rubbing her sore shoulder once they were outside of the building.

"You suddenly had on your 'I want to rip his entrails out through his nose' face," Milly said. "It seemed prudent to leave the room before you could do so."

"Ah," said Meryl, surprised. "Hmm." She wasn't aware she telegraphed her anger quite so openly. Then again, maybe Milly just knew how to read her by now. This seemed more likely, or at least she hoped so. The mayor certainly didn't seem to know how close he had come to disembowelment; it sounded like he was still chuckling at his own little joke as they walked under his open window.

"Wait!"

The call came from behind them and Meryl and Milly both turned. Two young women were hurrying after them, both with frizzy dark hair pulled back into identical braids which bounced against their shoulders as they ran. They came to a stop an arm's length away, faces slightly flushed and eager.

"We heard you were looking for Vash the Stampede," said one, trying to mask the excitement in her voice. She was the taller of the two, and was dressed in a fitted blouse—and long men's slacks that seemed out of place with the rest of her appearance. Clearly athletic and lean, the girl looked to be about seventeen by Meryl's guess.

"Delia," the other girl hissed, frowning at the first. She might have been a year or two younger than—her sister? Probably. In a billowing skirt, she was a little rounder of face and was already showing more feminine curves than the older girl. "I'm sorry," she said, to Meryl. "We—ah—overheard some of your conversation with Daddy." Her eyes darted to the nearest window and Meryl had a pretty good idea of the circumstances. Then her eyes practically lit up. "Are you bounty hunters?"

"Daddy?" Milly asked the question before Meryl could.

"Er, yes," said the second girl, still nameless. "The mayor." She grimaced. "I'm sorry about him. Daddy's just a big ol' stick in the mud when it comes to women being…well…"

"Useful?" Delia offered, her tone openly sarcastic. Then she muttered, "Got a big ol' stick up his—"

"Delia!"

"Come on Karen," Delia said, frustrated. "We're never going to do _anything_ as long as Daddy treats us like this."

Meryl could tell this was one of Those Arguments, forever unresolved and frequently repeated, enough to be rote. She and Milly had a couple of these. Well, one was simply, _"Hi, Mr. Vash!" "He's not Vash!"_

"We're not bounty hunters," Meryl told them, trying to cut in before the Argument could get into full swing. Apparently they hadn't heard the whole conversation in the office. "We work for an insurance company."

"But you're looking for Humanoid Typhoon," said Karen, fixing Meryl with an accusing look, as though the older women had falsely tricked them into excitement.

"Yes," Milly explained. "We want to keep him from causing too much damage."

"From causing _any_ damage, we'd rather," Meryl muttered. "But so far that seems too much to ask."

"So you want to find him, but not collect the sixty billion on his head," Delia said, skeptically.

"That's not our job," said Meryl, though as she said it she realized how odd it must sound. She and Milly had spent more time searching out Vash than any bounty hunter they'd ever come across, and for what? A lousy paycheck, which barely covered the cost of their travels. Why _weren't_ they out for the bounty?

"Is it true he's in town, somewhere?" Karen asked, interrupting Meryl's musings.

"We don't know," Milly told her. "There have been rumors…" She glanced at Meryl.

"Why?" asked Meryl, suspiciously. Now it was the sisters who shared a quick glance. Karen took a quick breath and launched into explanation.

"We want to help you find him," she said. "Well, we _did_ want to, thinking you were bounty hunters. But now…" Karen looked to Delia.

"We wanted the bounty," Delia said, sighing. "Wanted to split it with you, if we could help. Even a fraction of the money would be enough to get us out of this town."

Meryl raised an eyebrow.

"How exactly did you plan on helping us?" asked Meryl. "Assuming, we were bounty hunters. Which we're _not_," she stressed.

"Well, we hear he's a womanizer, right?" said Delia. She raised her eyebrows as though waiting for Meryl and Milly to catch on to their train of thought. When the older women said nothing, Delia sighed. She gestured to herself and Karen. "We thought, y'know…you could…use us?"

"As _bait?_" choked Milly.

"That's about nine kinds of crazy," said Meryl, rubbing her forehead. "Crazy _stupid_." The girls turned identical scowls on her.

"We wouldn't go in unarmed," Karen said, defensively. "Delia's got a gun."

"You have a _gun?_" Meryl said, alarmed.

"Everybody in this town's got a gun!" Delia said, throwing up her hands. "But nobody shoots."

"What do you mean?" asked Milly, apparently more interested in this rather cryptic remark than in the much more worrying fact that _these girls are somehow in possession of a firearm_.

"Well," said Karen. "We were too little to remember, but the story goes that there was a gunsmith that went door to door handing out revolvers when a gang of bandits was attacking the town. The whole town fought them off. But since then…" Karen's voice trailed off as she glanced up to Delia.

"They're all put away," said the older girl. Meryl couldn't quite read her expression.

"Why?" asked Milly, fascinated at this local history.

"Later, somebody turned a gun on their neighbors. During a bank robbery. One of _us._"

Meryl could tell the _us _referred to the townsfolk as a whole; their friends, their relatives. One of them took up arms against the rest. Karen sounded betrayed.

"And I decided I wasn't going to let it happen to _us_," said Delia, setting her jaw determinedly. Meryl knew immediately that _this_ "us" was Karen. She could clearly see the over-protective-sister side of the older girl come to the forefront of Delia's character with these words. "We stole Daddy's gun and went out to the west dunes with a bunch of soda pop bottles and learned to shoot. I haven't put it back since."

"You can shoot?" Meryl asked, even more surprised than alarmed.

"I can shoot better than half the men in this town," Delia said. Meryl could hear a hint of pride in her voice, hidden under a layer of clear disdain for the men to whom she referred.

"I can't," mumbled Karen, grimacing.

"Yeah, well, that boy was sweet on you at the time," Delia told her sister. "And it didn't take too long for his leg to heal up."

Meryl and Milly shared a worried glance. Karen noticed.

"I don't try anymore," she assured them.

A shout from above startled all four of them.

"_Girls!_"

Meryl looked up. The mayor was leaning out the window, looking down at his daughters with an exasperated expression.

"Leave those women alone," he told them, wiping a handkerchief across his forehead. "Stop pestering!"

Delia rolled her eyes. Meryl wondered briefly if the mayor was worried she and Milly might give his daughters ideas. It looked like they already had ideas—not altogether wise ones—and it troubled Meryl some.

"Yes, Daddy," Karen called up to him, in that sighing, resigned voice of a teen who is certain she knows better than her parents. Then she leaned forward toward Milly, whispering, "Can we come talk to you later?"

Meryl frowned, about to argue against this, but Delia spoke first.

"You're staying at the inn by the saloon, right?" the older girl said. "We'll find you there tonight."

"I don't really think that's a good—"

"You two come back here!" the mayor called, ruining Meryl's hopes of dissuading the girls. "Karen! Delia!"

The sisters grinned at her and Milly before turning to race each other back to the town hall doors, braids bouncing on their shoulders with each step.

Meryl sighed.


	14. Episode 3, Peace Maker, Part 2

Just as the last sun was setting, shining a brilliant red haze at the horizon, there was a knock on the door to the room Meryl and Milly shared. Delia and Karen stood in the hall, smiling. Milly invited them in, but Meryl frowned.

"How did you know we were staying here?" Meryl asked the girls, quizzically.

"There's only one inn," Delia said, smirking. "The town is too small for even a sheriff, remember? We don't get a lot of tourist traffic."

"But the room—" Meryl began.

"There was only one key missing downstairs," Karen told her. Meryl looked back and forth between the two of them; these girls were clever, and they knew it. Briefly Meryl thought of the Idiot and wondered where he was staying, then, if not here. Had he left town already? _Oh, to have him out of the way…_

"Any news of Vash the Stampede?" Delia asked them immediately, jumping across the room to land cross-legged on Milly's bed, bouncing slightly on the old bedsprings and grinning up at her. Karen joined her sister, though she sat more carefully and arranged her skirt to keep it from rumpling, Meryl noticed.

"I don't know why you're still so interested," Meryl said, half-sighing. "You know we're not bounty hunters."

"No," said Karen. "But you _are_ interesting, regardless."

"Why?" Milly asked, looking puzzled.

"You're women, traveling alone, looking for the Humanoid Typhoon," Karen ticked off observations on her fingers. "And you just seemed nice."

Milly beamed at her.

"Holy cow, are those real?" Delia asked, suddenly, wide eyes staring past Meryl. She leapt across to Meryl's desk, where her cloak was draped over the chair, its derringers in full view. Delia's long, delicate fingers trailed down one Thomas-hide strip, touching each of the five pistols. The girl turned to look at Meryl in new awe. Then she drew a derringer from its holster and turned it over in her hands.

Meryl's first instinct was to order the girl to drop the pistol. She tried to soften the comment from a bark to a request before it even left her mouth, but Delia seemed to know what she was thinking and gave Meryl a little half-smirk. "Mine's a Colt Peacemaker," she said. "I think I can handle a little sawed-off pistol."

"It's called a _derringer_," Meryl corrected, though she grinned inwardly at the girl's impertinence. She reminded Meryl of herself at that age. Some.

"Whatever it's called, it's _tiny_," said Delia.

"Give it here," Meryl said, smiling despite herself. She had just cleaned and loaded all her pistols in preparation for patrolling the streets that evening and now she gave Delia a quick explanation of how the derringer worked. And then, at the query, why she carried fifty of them. "Two shots in each, then drop and draw again; I can get ten shots off in the time a man can empty his revolver, and then _he_ has to reload."

"Wow," said Delia, raising her eyebrows, clearly impressed. "Well, thanks for showing me, Ms. Stryfe."

"Oh god, call me Meryl," Meryl said quickly, holstering the derringer again. Hearing a seventeen-year-old call her "Ms." made Meryl feel much too old for her meager twenty-four years.

"And call me Milly!" said Milly, brightly.

"Then, thanks, Meryl," Delia finished, smiling broadly.

Meryl gave a quick, sad glance at Milly. The younger woman _still_ wouldn't call Meryl by her name. Meryl had stopped trying to convince—persuade, beg—her partner to drop the honorific and was becoming resigned to the fact she might never be anything but "Ma'am."

Karen seemed to be looking Milly over and frowned. "Do you have derringers, Milly?" she asked.

"Oh, no," said Milly. "I carry a stun-gun." She pointed to where the massive weapon sat propped against the closet.

"My goodness," said Karen, eyes wide.

"I envy you both," Delia said suddenly, sitting heavily on Milly's bed again. When both Meryl and Milly looked at her curiously, she explained, "You're free to go about as you please, you're independent, you're—" here she waved at Meryl's cloak and Milly's stun-gun "—_heavily _armed." The girl grimaced. "And I'm stuck _here_, in the middle of nowhere, with no future.

"I know I'm meant for more than just this stupid small town," Delia finished, frustrated. "There has to be more than this; I don't belong here."

"I know how that feels," said Meryl, gently.

She knew _exactly_ how that felt.

But Delia was looking at her skeptically. "_You?_" She glanced at Meryl's cloak again.

"Where do you think I came from?" Meryl asked. She shrugged. "I had to make my way out of nowhere, same as you." Out of the corner of her eye she saw Milly's head jerk slightly toward her, but when Meryl turned Milly was smiling at Karen, though it looked slightly forced.

Meryl's attention was drawn the window. Night had fallen completely by now and all was dark outside, save the light from the two moons rising overhead. Milly caught Meryl looking and glanced to the window briefly herself. Delia noticed.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"Well, with no sheriff, Milly and I plan to go patrolling tonight, to keep an eye on things," Meryl said. "I hate to cut such a good conversation short, but…" She trailed off.

"We could come with you," Karen offered.

"Er," said Meryl, startled. "No, no, that's not a good—"

"Why not?" Delia asked, enthusiastically. "We know the town inside-out, we could help."

"Ma'am," Milly began, and Meryl knew from the light tone of her voice that the woman was about to suggest they take the girls up on their offer. Meryl widened her eyes slightly and jerked up her chin a fraction of an ich, warningly. "…is right, girls," Milly finished, smoothly, turning mid-sentence to speak specifically to Karen and Delia. "This is our job, we can't have you risking yourselves."

"God!" cried Delia, standing and starting to pace back and forth, looking frustrated. "Heaven forbid we do something _interesting,_ we might break a nail! We're no good for anything but sitting around looking pretty, is that all we're ever going to hear?" Meryl was surprised—_are these girls actually told that?_—but suddenly Delia stopped in front of Meryl and addressed her directly. "I thought maybe _you_ wouldn't be so damn stodgy, but it turns out you're no better than Daddy!"

Meryl was strangely stung by this, and smothered the minor hurt with fierce annoyance and opened her mouth to snap a retort. It didn't matter, however, because Karen turned to fix her sister with a severe frown.

"That's not fair, Delia," she said, and her voice was stern, more authoritative than Meryl had heard before. "You can't expect Meryl to suddenly champion all your dreams of independence. She got herself out of her own situation, and _you_ shouldn't resent her for it."

Both Meryl and Milly stared at Karen in amazement. Delia herself looked cowed.

Then Karen sighed.

"But at least you _can_ get impassioned about it," she said, looking down at her hands in her lap. Her fingers clasped each other tightly. "You know you're meant for something else, but I'm afraid maybe I _am_ supposed to be here."

Delia sat heavily next to her sister and pulled her into a fierce hug. "Well, I wouldn't go anywhere without you, dummy." Karen smiled gratefully and Meryl watched and wished, maybe for the first time, that she'd had siblings. This moment would be worth it.

"Well," said Meryl, and she had to clear her throat—_not crying, certainly_—before she could speak again. "You two should probably be heading home, shouldn't you?" Meryl looked to Karen, who might have just proven herself the more mature of the pair. The girls gave Meryl identical pouts, lower lips jutting out under wide, glassy eyes, but they didn't have anything on Milly's kicked-puppy look and Meryl found herself delightfully immune. "Nice try, girls," she said, smiling wryly. "But you're welcome to come back and have lunch with us tomorrow, how about that?"

Karen brightened immediately, but Delia still looked gloomy.

"Are you sure you don't want us to come with you tonight?" the older girl asked hopefully, one more time. "We'd be good to have—"

"Goodnight, girls," Milly and Meryl said in unison, though kindly, each trying to hold back a smile as they caught the other's eye. The girls stood, Delia more reluctantly, and Karen beamed.

"See you for lunch, then!" said Karen, pulling Delia away by the elbow, leading her out the door and closing it behind them.

"They're sweet," Milly said, smiling as the girls' footsteps faded down the hall.

"They certainly are," agreed Meryl, though she sighed. "Delia seems a little reckless, though, I worry…" She stood and pulled her cloak from the chair, wrapping it around her shoulders. Milly searched through her bags and pulled out two flashlights, handing one to Meryl.

"She has Karen to look out for her," Milly said, hefting her stun-gun into its sling. "They compliment each other well. The younger, level-headed one to help calm and balance the older, occasionally hot-headed one."

"I suppose," Meryl said, "but how do you know they—" She stopped abruptly as these words sunk in, but when she turned around the younger, level-headed woman was too busy arranging the folds of her cloak to meet her eye. Meryl blushed.

Within minutes they were down on the street outside the saloon and Meryl could smell the alcohol wafting out on the faint night breeze. Light spilled from the windows to cast square yellow patches on the packed dirt of the street which fragmented over Meryl's feet as she and Milly walked past.

"Flashlights," Meryl said, once they were far enough from the saloon that nothing further illuminated their path. All the storefronts were dark and empty, each coming briefly into sharp relief as the beam from one of their flashlights swept across it. They made their way through the main streets and on toward the more residential areas without meeting anything out of the ordinary.

"Ma'am, may I ask you a question?" Milly asked abruptly, some time later.

"Of course," said Meryl absently. Her attention was still entirely on the flashlight she held, sweeping across the back of an alley on her left.

"Why are you doing this?"

"I told you," Meryl said, distracted. She had spotted a shadow moving across the beam of light, but relaxed once she recognized the form ("Nyao!"). "This town has no sheriff, and with all these rumors about Vash flying around, I want to keep an eye on things." She glanced back to Milly.

"No, no—I mean, yes," the younger woman said, shaking and then nodding her head in a manner that made Meryl dizzy just to watch. "I know why we're patrolling. I mean, why are you doing _this._" Milly waved her arms vaguely as a more all-encompassing gesture. "This job."

"Oh," said Meryl. She didn't quite know how to answer, but Milly went on.

"From what you said to the girls, it seems like…" The younger woman hesitated. "Like you had bigger plans."

"Oh," Meryl said again, still not sure what to say.

"You're smart, responsible," Milly continued, and Meryl found herself oddly pleased to hear that her partner thought so well of her. "You're quick and accurate with a pistol, it seems like you could do whatever you want." Milly looked around again, somewhat skeptically. "_Is_ this what you want?" Her eyes also looked cautiously anxious.

Meryl wondered if the younger woman might be hurt if she said otherwise. Certainly of all this she enjoyed Milly's company—friendship, if you could call it that—but to be honest, this wasn't what Meryl had originally had in mind.

She considered what she wanted to (or should) tell Milly about herself. The subject had largely been taboo between the two women, after an incident wherein Milly had asked Meryl about the oldest derringer in the cloak. The younger woman had been watching Meryl reassemble her cloak after having it cleaned, and Milly picked up the tarnished derringer, trying to shine it with her sleeve, asking why Meryl didn't just throw out such an ancient pistol and replace it with a better one.

Meryl had shouted at her and snatched the derringer out of Milly's hands so forcefully that her fingernails had scratched the younger woman's palms. It was Meryl's first experience with Milly's kicked-puppy face, and even now she thought her cheeks might be burning red with shame at the memory. Milly had just closed her hands in her lap, pressed her lips together tightly, and looked down at the floor. She didn't cry, or at least she hadn't let Meryl see it, but her voice quavered a little when she spoke up to ask Meryl's forgiveness for speaking out of turn.

"Oh, no, Milly," Meryl had said, desperately, her heart leaping up into her throat. "God, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean…I just…" But she hadn't come up with a good enough apology then, and Milly never asked her anything again, ever, until this moment.

"Ma'am?"

Meryl returned her attention to Milly, here, now.

"I'm sorry," she apologized for her distraction (and privately, for that incident in the past). "I…" Meryl began. "Well, actually—your family are farmers, aren't they, Milly?" Meryl side-stepped the question with her own.

"Yes, Ma'am," Milly affirmed with a nod. "I'm the first to leave the family business. After a time, I mean. I grew up working the fields with my brothers and sisters, but then I decided to try something different."

Meryl wasn't sure if Milly was more proud of this or troubled by it. The younger woman's demeanor was always so positive, the expression she wore now could be either. Suddenly Meryl wished she could read her partner as well as she thought Milly could read her.

"It's hard work," Meryl went on. "Farming. Isn't it? Good hard labor."

"Oh, yes Ma'am!" Milly was nodding emphatically, but her expression now was somewhat puzzled. She clearly wasn't sure where Meryl was going with this train of thought.

"I could have liked that, I think," said Meryl. "Steady work like that."

"Well, not always steady," Milly put in. "I mean, there's never enough water. Every harvest is different, every year there's some new trouble—"

"Oh," said Meryl, shaking her head. "I don't mean—I meant, honestly, solid work, two feet on the ground, in just one place. Steady."

Milly looked utterly perplexed now, and Meryl sighed.

"I worked…steamers, for awhile," she explained. "Working everywhere and not belonging anywhere. And now this. It'd be nice to belong somewhere."

"You worked on a sand-steamer, Ma'am?" Milly asked. She looked surprised. Meryl guessed she must be wondering what her work had entailed.

"Mm," said Meryl, non-committal. "Before all this." She waved a hand the same vague way Milly had, taking in her cloak as well.

"How did—" Milly began to speak but cut short, looking away as she swept her own flashlight across the alley floor. "Sorry, I'm pestering."

Meryl was tempted to let the conversation end there. She was already feeling a little awkward. As a rule, she didn't like to talk about herself. And to be honest, she'd never really had anyone to ask it of her.

"I wanted to go into law enforcement," she blurted, feeling as surprised at herself as Milly looked. "After a single unpleasant experience with bounty hunting. Then I wanted a badge."

"Bounty hunting…? Ma'am!" Milly looked like she was reeling from the sudden overload of information, having gone for so long with so little. Her mouth opened and closed a few times before she managed, "Why didn't you? You could be sheriff somewhere, or a Marshal like Miss Marianne."

Meryl's thoughts turned to the woman they had met a few weeks earlier, the young Marshal, that badge gleaming on her chest. But Meryl didn't look like Marianne.

"I'm five feet and change, on _top_ of being female," she said, looking away. "Nobody's going to take that seriously."

For a moment there was silence as they walked on.

"Is that why you were so upset earlier?" Milly asked, quietly. "In the Mayor's office?"

"Mm," said Meryl, non-committal as before. She pressed her lips tightly together.

A door swung open next to them and light spilled out into their path. There was a bellow of rage from inside the building and someone came flying out, hurled bodily through the door.

Meryl stepped back out of the way just in time to watch the man soar across her path, narrowly avoiding a collision. She stared in surprise at the man as he collapsed in a heap, groaning loudly. Another shout from behind her made Meryl turn, and though she managed to recognize the man flying suddenly toward her she wasn't able to move out of the way quickly enough. They met in a jarring impact as he unintentionally tackled her to the ground and forced all breath from her lungs.

Meryl landed flat on her back, and the Idiot landed with his face planted squarely between her breasts.

There was a brief moment of complete stillness and silence before the Idiot let out an appreciative, if muffled, "Oooh!"

Meryl growled so low in her throat the Idiot could probably feel it from his current position. He managed to extricate himself from her cleavage and look up to her face.

"Oh, hello!" he said, smiling lop-sidedly up at her. He appeared to be having difficulty focusing his eyes properly. "It's you!"

"Yes," said Meryl, through bared teeth.

The Idiot belched loudly and foul breath washed over Meryl's face. She wrinkled her nose and coughed (making his pointed chin bounce painfully against her sternum); he had been at the cheapest rotgut available, by the smell of it.

"What were you doing down here on the ground?" asked the Idiot, looking puzzled.

"I wasn't!" Meryl snapped. She pushed her palm against his face, forcing him sideways. "_Get off me!_" He rolled off her chest, giggling, and flopped onto his back on the ground. She scrambled to her feet, torn between kicking him in the kidneys or just stomping repeatedly on his chest.

"On your feet, brother," said the other man, standing again and stepping between Meryl and her potential victim. He bent down and helped pull the Idiot up with an arm around his shoulders.

"What are you two doing out so late?" the Idiot asked Milly, leaning heavily on his similarly drunk friend as Meryl retrieved the flashlight that had bounced out of her hand during the accidental-tackling.

"We're on night patrol, Mr. Vash!" Milly volunteered.

"Night patrol?" The Idiot looked bemused. Then he beamed at her. "That's wonderful! Aren't they wonderful?" he asked, turning to the other man.

"Here's to wonderful women!" shouted the man, raising his fist in the air in salute. He and the Idiot dissolved into more giggles and wandered off into the dark. Meryl let them go. She congratulated herself on not inflicting bodily harm on either of them. Beside her, Milly laughed softly.

"Looks like they're having fun," she commented.

"Hardly," said Meryl, watching the men veer suddenly off course and steady themselves on the side of a building for a moment. Their laughter carried back to her, echoing off the walls of the alley. "People only drown themselves in alcohol if they have something to forget."

Meryl glanced back to her partner and the look on Milly's face told her that the significance of this statement was not lost on the younger woman.

Meryl swallowed hard and looked away.

"Well," sighed Milly. "Shall we keep on?" There was a note in her voice that clearly intimated that she hoped the answer to this question would be _no_.

"Things seem pretty calm," Meryl admitted. She _was_ tired… "Let's do just one more quick sweep."

For the next twenty minutes they kept their flashlight beams low to the ground, avoiding people's windows, and canvassed the town again. There was only one residence with the lights still on by the time they were returning to the inn and Meryl glanced in quickly when she saw movement in the window.

It was the Idiot and the other drunkard. The second man had passed out by now, and the Idiot was pulling a blanket up over his sleeping form in a gesture Meryl thought oddly compassionate.

She found herself with the opportunity to consider him when he wasn't acting the part of the fool, living up to the moniker she'd dubbed him. The man in red turned from the bed and picked up a child's battered old doll that was sitting on the table, regarding it with an expression Meryl couldn't read, the face normally split in silly grins now muted and thoughtful.

Then he rushed to the window iches from where she stood and bent over the sill, wretching.

Meryl danced back out of the way as vomit splattered across the ground where her feet had been just seconds ago.

_Ugh. _She made a face.

"I've seen enough," she told Milly. "Let's get some sleep."


	15. Episode 3, Peace Maker, Part 3

When Meryl woke, Milly was already dressed and moving around the room with a purpose. No matter how hard she tried, Meryl could never rise before the younger woman. It all came from her upbringing, Meryl figured, from all Milly's years working on a farm.

"Up with the suns," Milly had always told her. "And that dratted rooster," she would add, with a scowl.

These days the women had no rooster, though occasionally the cat, Kuroneko, would sneak into their room—no matter how hard Meryl tried to keep it out!—and yowl an ear-splitting greeting to the sunrise. Milly had forbidden Meryl to throw anything at the cat, after one particularly disastrous morning when the bedside clock Meryl hurled at the source of the yowling had smashed though their second-story window and hit an innocent passer-by across the street.

Now Meryl sat up in bed, yawning so broadly it made her jaw hurt as she threw off the covers. The tattered throw rug on the floor did little to protect Meryl's feet from the cold and she hurried to dress, pulling on deep violet leggings and shoving her feet into low-heeled white boots. Shrugging out of the long shirt she wore to sleep, Meryl pulled on bra and light blouse before covering it all with the long-sleeved fitted white tunic that tapered at the waist before flaring out to fall over her hips. She fastened the clasps the front of the tunic and stood before the mirror, wincing as she saw the tangled black mess of her hair.

Milly's reflection appeared in the mirror as well and she stood behind Meryl, attacking the unruly hair with a wet comb. After a few moments (and only a few painful yanks on her scalp), Meryl's short hair lay tamed.

"Thank you, Milly," Meryl said, gratefully. Milly stowed the comb in her bag again and straightened her red tie before pulling on her cloak. She settled the green epaulettes on her shoulders and turned to Meryl.

"Where are you going?" Meryl asked, puzzled.

"We're running out of cash," Milly said, fingers rifling through the billfold she always kept tucked in her trouser pocket. Her lips silently mouthed numbers as she counted. "Someone last night said there was a bank delivery coming this morning, I was going to see if we could withdraw some funds from our account."

"Good thinking, Milly," Meryl agreed. "Do you want me to come?"

"Oh, no, Ma'am," Milly said, smiling. "It's alright, you should take the last of the money and have some breakfast at the café." The younger woman pressed a few double-dollar bills into Meryl's hands before folding up the wallet and returning it to her pocket.

"But—"

"Don't worry, I've already eaten," Milly assured her. She nodded at the bills in Meryl's hand and said, "That's enough for toast and eggs, and coffee."

"Excellent," said Meryl, mouth already watering at the promise of coffee. Blessed, blessed caffeine... "I'll meet up with you here later, then?"

"Yes, Ma'am!"

Meryl nodded and Milly left. Sighing, Meryl did a quick-and-dirty job of remaking her bed (she wouldn't bother at all except for Milly's protestations at the mess) and threw her cloak around her shoulders as she made her way down the stairs.

The café was on the same side of the street as the inn, only a few minutes away, and Meryl spent the brief walk blinking away the last of her fatigue in the bright morning sunlight. When she reached the open-air café, the young waiter recognized her and seated her on the patio again. Smiling, he offered to bring Meryl another banana sundae, but she declined with a small grin of her own. Just a few minutes later the young man reappeared with a plate of scrambled eggs and toast so slathered in butter it made her mouth water just to see it.

And coffee. Strong, black coffee.

"Ohhh, bless you," Meryl said, accepting the cup from the waiter's hands.

"I'll just leave the carafe, then, shall I?" he asked, grinning. Meryl nodded and took her first sip with a little too much enthusiasm, burning her tongue.

Belatedly, she realized the man might have been flirting with her. But the café was starting to fill up now and the waiter's attention was divided between too many people for Meryl to catch his eye again. _Alas._

The eggs were almost cold in her mouth compared to the scalding coffee, but it was good to have a proper meal. The toast was as delicious as it looked. Meryl made short work of her breakfast and poured herself another cup of coffee, leaning back in her chair with a contented sigh.

"The bank!" someone shrieked. "Vash the Stampede is robbing the bank!"

Meryl inhaled a little of her coffee in surprise and the bitter liquid burned in her throat and lungs as someone came running past the café, shouting frantically. The man tripped in his hurry to scramble up the stairs of the town hall, still hollering at the top of his lungs.

All around her, people in the café were beginning to murmur and look worried as more shouting carried from the streets. There were sudden gunshots and Meryl leapt to her feet.

The bank_—Milly!_

Meryl vaulted the railing at the edge of the raised patio but didn't quite catch her feet under her on the street-level. Stumbling, she turned the fall into a roll and was back on her feet and sprinting smoothly in an instant. She followed the sounds of the commotion, running as fast as her legs could carry her.

All the action seemed to be taking place about a hundred yarz away, outside the building Meryl recognized now as the bank. An old brown convertible was parked across from the entrance, a green folding chair sitting nearby under a yellow umbrella with orange lace trim.

The lanky man in the folding chair, moments ago looking completely at ease while stroking a gigantic gun resting across his lap, now leapt to his feet and his shout of alarm reached Meryl's ears a moment before the doors to the bank burst open outward.

Meryl watched as two men came crashing out into the street, practically stumbling over each other in their hurry, shouting wordlessly. A third man came flying out after them, propelled unmistakably by one of the massive claws shot from Milly's stun-gun. The man trapped in its steel jaws collided with one of the other men and the two of them tumbled across the street, knocking over umbrella and folding chair alike before crashing through the plate glass window of a storefront. One of them was on his feet again some moments later, staggering resolutely back toward his fellows.

Two of the men still standing—a blond with long hair and a man in a tall, brimmed hat—flattened themselves against the building, flanking the entrance to the bank. Milly appeared only moments later, the barrel of her giant stun-gun visible before she herself was. She caught sight of one or both men in her peripheral vision and tried to duck back through the door, turning the stun-gun on the blond man to her left. The jaws of the metal trap snapped closed on his legs, sending him sprawling, but the second man stepped in and brought the butt of his gun down hard across the back of Milly's head.

_No, no, no!_

Meryl drew two derringers as she ran.

Milly had been knocked sideways but she hit the ground rolling and was up on hands and knees again in an instant. Her dropped stun-gun was rolling out of her reach, toward the man who had struck her. She lunged for it, but the man got there first and stepped over the massive barrel, backhanding Milly across the face. This time she cried out and landed hard on her back. The man stepped forward to stand over her, pointing his revolver down at her chest.

Meryl pulled each trigger once.

The first bullet kicked up a plume of dust half an ich from the toes of his tight foot, and the second ripped a hole through the tall black hat he wore, knocking it off his head.

"Drop it!" she shouted. She stood solidly but was breathing hard from the panicked sprint moments earlier. All three men left standing were staring at her in bewilderment. As the initial shock passed, two men turned their guns on her, though the man who'd been in the folding chair still held the giant gun casually with the barrel propped up on his shoulder, pointed up toward the sky. The man standing over Milly had to draw a second weapon—dividing his attention. _Good._ "Let her go!"

"Who the hell are you?" asked the man with no hat.

"I'm with her," said Meryl, nodding at Milly.

There was a small, tiny, almost inaudible scratching noise from behind her, but Meryl heard it—the scratching of dirt beneath someone's boot. In an instant she swung her left hand around backwards, out low.

"Erk!"

Meryl glanced briefly over her shoulder, glaring. The long-haired blond man had managed to free himself from Milly's stun-gun claw and was trying to sneak up behind her. Now he stood frozen, white-faced, with Meryl's small pistol in his crotch.

"Don't even think about it," Meryl said, pulling back the hammer with a fairly ominous _click_. The man immediately dropped the revolver he held. "Back off," she ordered. "Slowly."

The man glanced over her head and Meryl turned to watch the exchange as the man with the gun on his shoulder, evidently the man in charge—supposedly Vash—nodded curtly. The blond man backed away. Meryl kept the gun on him as he moved to join the others and then stood solidly with one shot left in each derringer, pointing one at the man holding Milly and aiming the other vaguely at the clump of men still surrounding Supposed-Vash. Jerking her chin in Milly's direction, Meryl demanded again, "Let her go."

"You gonna try and stop us, too?" sneered the bald mountain of muscle.

"I just want her," Meryl said. Which was mostly true. Once she had Milly, then she could start worrying about stopping them. "One more time: let her go."

Supposed-Vash bared his teeth at her. His small eyes, far too close together, were hidden behind red glasses and Meryl could see his thick eyebrows come together over the tiny round frames as he scowled.

"You're outnumbered," he commented.

"I said, I'm not trying to stop you," Meryl said. She didn't want this to escalate, but she knew there was no way in hell she would back down before they would. "But if it comes to it, I will take you all on. And you will regret it."

"With those two pea-shooters?" said the man standing over Milly, laughing.

Meryl wished, just once, for a good gust of wind to pick up and open her cloak, exposing all her derringers to view, the way it happens in the movies. At best, a tiny breeze was making the hem flutter. She settled for giving them all her fiercest glare.

"Try me," she growled.

For a moment there was silence.

"I'd do what she says."

One of Meryl's pistols swung automatically toward the new voice.

"That little one's a firecracker, I'll tell you," said the Idiot, shaking his head ruefully. He flashed them all a winning smile from below—_a trash can lid?_

Meryl's jaw dropped open at the sheer gall of it. Her partner is laying on the ground at gunpoint, she's facing off with four armed men—where was the fifth now? Ah, still stuck in the other stun-gun claw—and this _lunatic_ pops up with a trash can lid on his head? She gritted her teeth in anger.

"Who are you?" demanded Supposed-Vash, staring at this new stranger.

The Idiot stood in his full glory: bright red jacket, heavy black boots, flashing green eyes… No, Meryl couldn't see his eyes from under the rim of the trash can lid.

"I said, who _are_ you?" repeated Supposed-Vash, bristling. Meryl watched his index finger twitching over the trigger guard of the gun he still held at ease, still resting on his shoulder. Each of Supposed-Vash's cronies drew a second gun and aimed it at the Idiot, save for the hatless man standing over Milly, who looked a little unsure where either of his weapons should be pointed now.

Meryl kept one eye on the guns trained on her, only two now, and the other eye watched the Idiot. A glint of something shining briefly near his boot, and then—

"Oops!" called the Idiot, looking down at the convertible. Meryl watched the vehicle sag sadly to one side and heard the faint hiss of escaping air. "Flat tire. You won't get away in this…"

"You—you!" sputtered Supposed-Vash.

Meryl's jaw had dropped again_. How…?_

"Do you know what you're _doing?_" the muscled man asked the Idiot. "This gent—" (he gestured at Supposed-Vash) "is the much-feared Humanoid Typhoon, Vash the Stampede!" Meryl definitely had serious doubts about this, but this was hardly the time.

"Oh, really?" said the Idiot, sounding surprised. "Sorry, I just heard he was more…er…" Finally he looked up, the trash can lid tilting back to reveal the whole of his face. Meryl could see that though he was affecting a puzzled expression, his green eyes were sparkling mischievously. "Handsome," he finished, only the barest hint of a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

If Meryl's jaw could have dropped any further, it would have.

Supposed-Vash finally let the barrel of giant gun fall heavily into his palm, aiming it directly at the Idiot's chest. Meryl could see the man's teeth gritted together in his anger, holding the gun so tightly his knuckles went white.

"Are you implyin' I'm not Vash?" snarled Supposed-Vash. Meryl could tell the man was trying to sound intimidating, even threatening, but his voice was too high-pitched to pull off the growl he was aiming for.

"Want to find out?"

Meryl's insides went suddenly to ice. The Idiot's voice had done what Supposed-Vash's could not, rumbling low in his chest and making everyone from bank-robbers to onlookers take in a sudden breath, raising the degree of tension in the air tenfold. His eyes had gone dangerously sharp as he stared down the other man.

Then Meryl realized what he was doing. The man in red was pointing a gun, hidden in his jacket pocket, at Supposed-Vash. Meryl blinked.

_There's no gun._

She didn't even have time to marvel at the stupidity of such a gambit before another new voice called out.

"Don't. Move." The order came from someone out of Meryl's line of sight, somewhere behind Supposed-Vash. The voice was surprisingly soft but still loud enough to carry across the whole scene, and there was so much anger in just those two syllables that it made the hair on the back of Meryl's neck stand up a little. Something felt very, very wrong.

Meryl took a step backward and let out a strangled noise of alarm as Delia came into her view, standing behind Supposed-Vash in a solid shooting stance, a weathered old Colt Peacemaker making a strange contrast to the delicate white hands gripping it.


	16. Episode 3, Peace Maker, Part 4

Meryl was wide-eyed and terrified.

Delia stood ten yarz away, frizzy wisps of her long hair escaping from its braid to frame a face showing mixed fear and anger, in almost equal parts. Her whole body seemed to tremble slightly, but still she managed to hold the gun in steady hands, the barrel pointed squarely at Supposed-Vash.

At last, Meryl found her voice again.

"Delia," she called, trying desperately to keep her voice calm and even. "Go back inside."

"No!" said the girl, defiantly. She stood her ground. "Just 'cause the rest of this town is too chicken-shit to back you up doesn't mean we _all _ought to roll over for these jokers."

_God, this isn't the time to think to prove yourself, girl!_

Meryl didn't know what to do: tell Delia to put the gun down and assume Supposed-Vash's men wouldn't shoot an unarmed girl? They seemed ready enough to shoot Milly. Keep the gun, then, and risk remaining a threat the men might think to eliminate?

The muscles in Supposed-Vash's jaw were working madly and his men's eyes were wild, darting from Meryl to Delia and back again. Meryl could see they were all starting to panic, and panicked men do stupid things.

"Delia, please," Meryl whispered. There were just too many damn variables in the situation. Too many people, too many chances for everything to go wrong.

"No, she's right."

This new voice came from behind Meryl. Another woman's voice. Chancing a glance over her shoulder, Meryl recognized the woman bartender from the town's single saloon, still wearing her odd ensemble of lavender-trimmed red-brown dress and dirty white apron. The dark green stocking cap covering her long hair seemed to have been yanked on hastily and she was taking great panting breaths, the gun in her hands moving up and down in time with the rise and fall of her chest.

Meryl wondered where the gun had been, if the woman had to run to fetch it.

"We're not going to let you just walk away with everything we have," said the woman. "Drop everything, now, and—" she gestured at Milly "—let that poor girl up, and we'll let you leave. Just get the hell out of here!"

"You'll _let_ me leave?" Supposed-Vash crowed. Meryl thought his laugh sounded a little forced.

"It sounds like a pretty good deal," the Idiot called. "Maybe you should take her up on it."

"You shut up!" shouted Supposed-Vash, baring his gritted teeth as he took a tighter grip on his own gun. "You think I'm gonna back down from a few little girls? And even _if_ you do have a gun, I'm not—"

The man stopped suddenly, his mouth falling open as his eyebrows shot up in disbelief. At this point Meryl had lost all hope of getting the situation under control, one way or the other. She was trapped there, watching everything happen around her without any hope of affecting the outcome—at least, not for the better. So it was with a sinking feeling of despair that she turned to follow Supposed-Vash's gaze.

Her forehead ached more than perhaps it ever had. The waiter from the café was pointing yet another gun at Supposed-Vash. He stepped directly in front of the Idiot, shielding him from the other man's aim. Meryl saw the look of shock on the Idiot's face an instant before he suddenly met her eye, mirroring her own desperate, useless, terror.

There was movement out of the corner of Meryl's eye and she glanced around. More people were stepping forward into the street now, two or three at a time, forming a circle around the scene. Guns were appearing everywhere: from holsters, jacket pockets, apron fronts. Supposed-Vash and his men were surrounded, staring down dozens of revolvers and the angry faces of the townsfolk wielding them. All barrels pointed in toward the center.

What was it Delia had said? _Everyone in this town has a gun…_

And here they all were.

Meryl wanted to cry.

_It's a goddamn Mexican standoff._

Tension was so thick in the air she could hardly breathe. Any one man—or woman, or girl—could pull their trigger now and the whole town would go up like a powder keg. She could practically see Supposed-Vash sweating. All his men had gone pale, and the hatless man standing over Milly had actually started to shake.

"You probably think you've won," Supposed-Vash said finally, sneering as he addressed the Idiot, over the waiter's shoulder. Meryl gasped as a quick slide backward of the pump on the massive gun he held made the end of the weapon flare out into five separate barrels, revealing what looked like a bazooka in the center. "Think again!" Supposed-Vash shouted triumphantly.

Meryl held her breath; it was a miracle no one had been startled into firing on the man. But from the faces Meryl could see around her, the townsfolk were all suddenly less confident, glancing sideways to each other and gripping the guns so tightly their knuckles went white.

Supposed-Vash was grinning, obviously thinking the balance of power had just shifted in his favor.

"You should save your aces for last!" he shrieked, high-pitched laughter burbling up uncontrollably from his throat. His loud maniacal giggling cut off sharply moments later and he gasped, his whole body stiffening as though every muscle had suddenly seized up.

For a few seconds Meryl didn't understand what was happening. Then she saw a man standing only iches behind Supposed-Vash—she recognized him as the Idiot's drunken friend from the night before—with the tip of his stubby index finger pressed to the back of the other man's neck.

_What?_

"Checkmate," said the man. For one ridiculous moment Meryl almost rolled her eyes at the mixed metaphors. "Drop the gun," the drunkard ordered, jabbing his finger still more forcefully against Supposed-Vash's skin.

The man's fingers went slack and the massive gun fell to the ground with a heavy clanking noise, rolling over once until it rested on its side.

"The rest of you, too," called the drunkard. At a sharp nod from their leader, Supposed-Vash's men all dropped their weapons. The hatless man standing over Milly backed away, and Milly leapt to her feet, scowling fiercely. Meryl could see her eye was already blackening from the blow she had taken to the face earlier. The younger woman bent down to scoop up her stun-gun in one hand and stepped toward the man who had struck her. He recoiled, alarmed, as Milly stood at her full height and glowered at him.

Then she kicked him, hard, in the shins.

Meryl actually laughed, relief flooding her as she finally realized it was all over. The man had squealed in surprise and pulled his knee up to his chest, clasping his hands over the injury. Vindictively, Meryl hoped the sharp leather toe of Milly's pointed boot had cut into the skin of his leg.

"It's alright now," the drunkard called to the surrounding townsfolk. Slowly people began lowering their weapons, and with each barrel that finally pointed safely at the ground Meryl felt her heart rate slow to normal. She let her own arms fall to her sides with a sigh, the derringers suddenly heavy as lead in her hands.

Supposed-Vash and his men raised their arms above their heads and Milly was already moving forward, using her foot to kick their guns away, out of their reach, as she kept her stun-gun trained on them all.

Meryl felt light-headed and stumbled when she took a step forward. She recovered herself with a deep, shaking breath, and walked the several paces to where Delia stood. The girl's jaw was still set determinedly but her whole body seemed to be trembling. Meryl wondered if the danger of the situation had only now struck Delia, the adrenaline-fueled defiance failing her now that it was over. She still held the gun in both hands, and Meryl reached down to pluck it from her shaking fingers.

"You did well, Delia," Meryl said, gently. The girl finally looked up at Meryl's words. "That was very—" she faltered, trying not to blurt out _stupid_ "—brave," she managed.

Then Karen appeared at Meryl's elbow, panicked and red in the face from running.

"Are you alright?" she demanded of Delia.

"I'm fine," the older girl assured her, though she was still a little pale.

"You'd damn well better be," Karen said. She reached high to slap her sister upside the back of the head, startling Delia into a squeak of pain.

"What was that for?" asked Delia, rubbing her head gingerly.

"Don't you ever do that again!" Karen threatened. "Running off half-cocked? _Without me??_"

"But 'Kay!" Delia protested. "I couldn't—"

"No excuses!" shouted Karen, looking fierce. Then, abruptly, she seized Delia around the middle and hugged her tightly. "You scared me," she mumbled into her sister's shoulder.

"I'm sorry," murmured Delia. She returned Karen's embrace and Meryl, uncomfortable as witness to such a private moment, left them to each other.

She approached where Milly was now ordering Supposed-Vash's men down to their knees while townsfolk went in search of rope to tie them up.

"Are you alright?" she asked Milly, quietly.

"I'm fine," the younger woman assured her, smiling, though she winced as the expression pulled at the bruising black eye. Milly touched it gently, grimacing.

_You'd damn well better be._

"What should we do about them?" Milly asked, nodding toward Supposed-Vash and his men.

"I suppose we should lock them up—" Meryl stopped abruptly and cringed.

"But there's no jail," Milly and Meryl said, together, with a groan.

"Okay, okay, hold on," muttered Meryl, massaging her forehead, thinking hard. Her gaze fell on the brown convertible and inspiration struck. An evil sort of grin tugged at the corners of her mouth.

An hour later, all five men were tightly bound around the feet and torso, though the townsfolk didn't have enough rope to spare and had to scramble for other ideas. Meryl suggested they just leave the fifth man in Milly's stun-gun claw, but it was decided the biting metal jaws were too painful for even such a crook to be forced to endure, so instead he was wrapped up in some of the hotel's oldest, grungiest-looking bed sheets.

Then each man was hoisted into a seat in the convertible, the aging seatbelts even buckled-in to keep them all practically immobile and supremely uncomfortable. Meryl saw to it that Supposed-Vash was riding the middle of the back seat, squashed between the two largest of his own men. Milly was thoughtful enough to retrieve the large yellow umbrella from across the street and wedge it in between the rear seats—sprouting up from between Supposed-Vash's knees—to give all the captive men some shade from the high noon suns. Meryl thought this was rather kinder than they deserved, but said nothing.

Delia and Karen had been milling around watching the proceedings with great interest, but were glad when Meryl and Milly were finally done and they could all leave the scene behind. Delia still seemed a little shaken from the ordeal, but the younger of the sisters appeared to be back in her usual spirits.

"Well," said Karen, bracingly, as though it had been a perfectly ordinary morning. "Lunch?"

Meryl sent Milly and the girls on without her ("Save me a seat, I'll be right there,") and waited for decisions to be made about how many men should be standing guard over the convertible and who would ride a Thomas all the way to the next town to bring the law back for Supposed-Vash and his men.

After some mild disagreements between the remaining menfolk and a good deal of blustering from the mayor, Meryl was satisfied that all the loose ends were being tied up, and was glad she could wash her hands of the whole thing. She hurried to meet Milly and the two sisters at the café, but she only made it ten steps away from the convertible before she did an abrupt about-face and returned to the car. A moment's work had the hood popped and the distributor cap removed.

_Just in case._

Meryl pocketed the cap and closed the hood, headed for the cafe. Again she walked a dozen or so paces from the convertible before turning around and retracing her steps. The men in the car had watched her double-back twice now and Meryl had the attention of all of five when she reached them again.

"Who are you, really?" she asked, addressing Supposed-Vash. "You're not the Humanoid Typhoon, he'd never be stupid enough to get caught like this." The man just scowled. "Why not tell me?" Meryl pressed. "You're going to jail regardless."

"Whore," spat the man, glaring at her through the red glasses. Then he leaned forward across the bald muscle-man sitting on his left and spat in Meryl's face. Or at least he tried to. A black-gloved hand shot out from nowhere and closed over the saliva projectile before it could reach Meryl. She had already stepped back automatically, flinching, and now she looked up to see the Idiot shaking his head as he looked down at the man.

"Tsk," said the Idiot, sighing. "That's no way to treat a lady." Quite unexpectedly, he punched the man across the face and Supposed-Vash's head lolled sideways until he lay still. The Idiot looked pointedly at the others in the car as though daring them to make any comment. They didn't.

The Idiot opened his fist and looked at the mess in his palm, crinkling his nose in distaste. He leaned forward slightly and wiped it discreetly on the unconscious man's shoulder. Grinning, he looked down at Meryl, who just stood staring, bemused, back up into his face.

"You are out of your goddamn mind," she told him finally, managing to find words. "You could have been killed back there."

The Idiot blinked at her and Meryl saw something more serious for a moment as he tilted his head contemplatively. "So could you."

_But that didn't stop you._

The comment was implicit in his tone.

Slightly unnerved by his continued gaze, Meryl looked away and searched for something to break the strange moment. Her eyes settled on the trash can lid the Idiot still wore on his head.

"Take that stupid thing off," she ordered, glad of something else but those green eyes to focus on. He just grinned at her again. Meryl reached up to take the lid from its perch on the bristly ends of the Idiot's hair and had to take another step closer, standing almost toe-to-toe with him in order to catch hold of it. His smile faltered and his eyes went slightly wider as he stared down at her, now standing so near.

Meryl looked at him curiously as she stepped back with the trash can lid in hand, wondering what he had thought she was going to do. But then he was grinning again, rubbing the back of his neck and looking almost embarrassed. A little wary, Meryl frowned and turned away in search of the trash can missing a lid. She found it in an alley on the other side of the street and tossed the convertible's distributor cap in before replacing the lid the Idiot had commandeered .

When she returned to the street, two men were positioned on either side of the convertible, guns holstered but within reach in an instant, and the Idiot and his drunkard friend were wandering off (the latter now very clearly hung-over—_how the hell had he even stayed standing long enough to pull off that stunt?_).

She sighed, still puzzled at what she had seen in the Idiot's eyes, and walked to the café.


	17. Episode 3, Peace Maker, Part 5

That evening, Meryl approached the woman barkeep in the town's only saloon. She had to lean in and raise her voice to be heard over the noise of a large crowd, taking up nearly half the room, celebrating the townsfolk's victory over Supposed-Vash that morning.

"Can I get a couple glasses of whiskey?" Meryl practically shouted. "Make one a sour," she added, knowing Milly would appreciate the sweeter drink. She pulled a handful of double-dollar bills from her pocket (she and Milly had eventually been able to make a withdrawal at the bank later in the afternoon).

The woman looked at the money and frowned, shaking her head. For a moment Meryl wasn't sure what to make of this reaction, but the woman pulled an unopened bottle of alcohol down from the highest of the glass shelves on the wall behind the bar.

"On the house, honey," she told Meryl, "for what you two did today." The woman nodded toward Milly and said, "Tell that girl to come up here and get some ice for the eye."

"Thank you," said Meryl, genuinely surprised at the gift—and it was _good_ liquor, too—and glad of the proffered aid for Milly's injury. "I'll send her over."

As Meryl turned to make her way to the table Milly had chosen, there was a resounding _crash! _ nearby. She was knocked suddenly sideways, and then pulled backward and down, all in one strange lurch that left her completely off-balance. She tried to catch herself with her free hand on the bar, raising the other aloft—_not the bottle!_—and recognized the sleeves of a bright red jacket fastened tightly around her waist.

"Whoops," said the Idiot from where he half-knelt on the ground, pressed to Meryl's side, steadying himself with both arms around her middle. Around them, half a dozen bar stools were knocked over and scattered across the floor. "Sorry," he told her, frowning down at the mess. "I'm pretty sure those weren't there a minute ago."

"Oh, I've no doubt," growled Meryl. Were it not particularly fine alcohol, she might have hit the Idiot over the head with the heavy bottle. She made to peel his arms from around her waist but he was already pulling himself up again with both hands on the bar.

"Where's my—?" the Idiot began, looking around him. "Oh, there it is," he finished happily, stooping to pick up an empty glass tankard that was miraculously still in one piece after his collision with Meryl, whom he had now apparently forgotten entirely. The Idiot slammed the glass on the bar and pushed it across toward the woman barkeep. "Fill 'er up, lady!"

In a flash, the woman picked up the tankard and swung it hard at the Idiot's head. Meryl gaped at her as the Idiot staggered sideways, knocking over another stool and barely catching himself on the edge of the bar.

"I meant, ma'am," said the Idiot, staggering to his feet. The woman hefted the tankard again menacingly. "Er...miss?" the Idiot finished, weakly. Looking smug, the woman filled the glass from the tap at the end of the bar and handed it across to the Idiot with no further fuss.

Meryl was still just staring, mouth open slightly in shock, glancing from the barkeep to the Idiot (who was returning, in dazed and staggered steps, to the rest of the crowd) and back again. The woman just smirked at Meryl and said, "Close your mouth before you start catching flies." She nodded toward Milly again. "Go on and get that girl, honey, 'fore her eye gets any blacker."

"Uh," gaped Meryl, though she hurriedly snapped her jaw shut before speaking carefully again. "Yes. Yes, I will." She made her way across the room as quickly as she could and sat down at the table next to Milly, keeping her back to the bar. Meryl had seen already that morning how brazen the woman barkeep could be, standing up to Supposed-Vash, and now with the incident with the Idiot she was sure she never wanted to cross the woman.

Milly seemed to have immediately spotted the bottle Meryl carried.

"It's a gift," Meryl said, noticing Milly's gaze. "From the barkeep. She says she has ice for you, too, for your eye."

"Oh, that's awfully nice," said Milly, smiling as she stood up. "Pour me a drink, I'll be right back."

Meryl nodded and poured them each a glass, taking a swig from her own and letting out a harsh breath. _Really_ good liquor. She had already finished her drink by the time Milly returned and poured herself another so the women could toast to the morning's successful non-disaster. Milly seemed to be in good spirits as she drank, though Meryl could only see the half of her face not obscured by a large ice-pack fashioned from a fairly clean, if ragged, dishrag.

Meryl managed to hear the obnoxious squeak of the saloon door's hinges over the enthusiastic celebrations nearby and glanced toward the entrance. She saw Karen and Delia walk in, scanning the crowd briefly and Karen grinned when she caught sight of Meryl and Milly. The younger girl elbowed her sister and pointed, and Delia waved at the two women.

"There she is!" someone shouted. Delia froze, her hand still raised to Meryl and Milly, and she glanced sideways toward the huge crowd at the back of the saloon. The smile slid instantly off her face as the group rushed toward her en masse, and Delia only managed one step backward before they reached her.

Karen hung back near the door as the crowd surged around Delia and carried her off across the room. Meryl went to stand with the younger girl, leaving Milly behind with the ice pack (and the bottle). Meryl glanced down at Karen and gave her a puzzled look, but the girl only shrugged and the two of them followed in the wake of the cheering crowd.

"Get this girl a drink!" someone shouted. Meryl recognized the waiter from the café, again.

"Give her the best in the house!" shouted another voice.

A tankard appeared and was shoved into Delia's hands; she looked both surprised and delighted and saluted the crowd before bringing the drink to her lips. Meryl managed to move hurriedly through the people surrounding her and reached forward suddenly, putting her hand palm-down over the mouth of the glass before Delia could drink. The girl looked up, surprised, and the men around them let out groans of disappointment.

"Aren't you a little young?" asked Meryl, raising her eyebrows pointedly.

"Oh?" said Delia, eyes suddenly wide in a fake-innocent expression. "And when did _you_ start drinking, Ms. Stryfe?"

Even from across the room, Milly heard this and burst into laughter.

So did the Idiot.

And it wasn't his usual fake guffaws, in tandem with that broad and ridiculous and entirely unbelievable grin; it was _real_ laughter, and his eyes were clear and sparkling as he watched her from across the table. Meryl stared at him for a moment, but remembered herself and turned back to Delia.

"Touché," she conceded, smiling wryly and removing her hand from the glass. Everyone cheered. Delia grinned at Meryl and took a giant swig, almost choking when the alcohol burned her throat. Some of the younger men nearby laughed and one clapped her hard on the back, making Delia flush pink with embarrassment.

"To Delia!" several people shouted at once. "The girl who saved the town!" The whole building seemed to vibrate to the sound of echoing cries, "To Delia!"

Someone was tugging insistently at Meryl's elbow and she turned around to find Karen gesturing at her, jerking her thumb back over her shoulder. She pulled Meryl close to be heard over the deafening cheers of the crowd.

"Let's go wait with Milly," said Karen. "Delia could be here for awhile—that's Mason Harding." Karen pointed surreptitiously at the young man at Delia's left and whispered, "She likes him!" Delia must have heard this somehow, because she glanced sideways to look daggers at her sister, who just grinned madly and led Meryl away.

When they reached the table where Milly sat, they found her finishing another glass of liquor. Milly already had a rosy flush to her cheeks and she smiled brightly at Meryl and Karen. She poured two more drinks and offered Karen her own. Meryl drank and raised her eyebrows over the rim of her glass, but Milly only shrugged and smiled a _why not?_

Karen looked pleased to be granted the same grown-up allowances as her sister, but when she took a dainty sip of the alcohol she coughed and her eyes watered fiercely. Meryl tried not to laugh as the girl pushed the nearly-full glass back to Milly with a shake of her head.

"No thanks," Karen wheezed.

"Good," Meryl said. "Nasty habit. Cheers," she added to Milly, who had taken her glass again. They drank, grinning, and Karen rolled her eyes.

"What's going to happen to—uh," Karen stopped, frowning slightly. "Um, the Bad Guys," she finished finally, looking embarrassed to have failed in finding a better name. Milly just smiled.

"We sent someone to your closest neighboring town, they have a jail," Meryl explained. "Lawmen'll come tomorrow to cart off—um, the Bad Guys."

"Ah," said Karen. Then she grinned. "Well, I wouldn't mind them taking their time about it. It's funny as hell to see them all tied up in that car. That was a great idea, Meryl, I—"

Karen stopped speaking abruptly as Delia appeared in their midst and pulled up a fourth chair at their table, sitting down with a weary sigh.

"What's wrong?" Karen asked.

"Oh, nothing. They're done with me, I've only just got away," Delia said, waving off the question dismissively . "Now they're on to that Mr. Marlon and his red-coated friend." She fanned herself with one hand—Meryl could see her face had gone bright red from the alcohol—and sighed deeply, looking a little dizzy.

"How much have you had?" Karen demanded of her sister, her tone almost accusing. Delia ignored her.

"Who is he, anyway?" Delia asked Meryl.

"What?" Meryl said, distracted. Milly was pouring herself another glass from their bottle and Meryl frowned, having lost track of the younger woman's drinking.

"That man," Delia pressed, "in the red jacket. He came into town with you, didn't he?"

"The hell he did!" shouted Meryl reflexively. She glanced over her shoulder at the Idiot, who was now doing a jig, balanced precariously on the table around which everyone was celebrating, cheering him on loudly. "He just ends up everywhere we are, in the middle of everything going wrong," Meryl said, frustrated. "A pain in the ass, that's who he is!"

"Oh, he's not so bad," Milly put in, absently. She finished another glass of liquor and hiccupped loudly as Meryl turned around again to stare at her in disbelief.

"So where are you headed next?" Karen asked Meryl hurriedly, accurately recognizing this as an oncoming one of Those Arguments and trying to steer the conversation away. Milly started giggling uncontrollably from under the ice-pack and Karen gave her a tentatively concerned glance.

"You could stay, you know," Delia said before Meryl could answer, sounding hopeful. Then her eyes widened as a thought seemed to strike her suddenly. "You could stay here and be the sheriff!"

Meryl shook her head distractedly and pulled the bottle from Milly's hand before she could help herself to yet more alcohol. "We have our own job to do," she explained. "You see now how hard it is trying to find Vash the Stampede, when so many other criminals are happy to jump in and use the name just to scare folk."

"This isn't the first time it's happened," Milly told the girls conspiratorially, between hiccups.

"As for the sheriff," Meryl said, an idea forming in her head as she poured herself the last of the bottle (Milly watched this, looking somewhat disappointed), "maybe _you_ should look into taking on the job."

"What—me?" Delia spluttered, eyes wide. "But I'm only—Daddy wouldn't—no one would—"

"Delia," said Meryl, exasperatedly. The alcohol was starting to muddle her thoughts slightly now, and she sighed. "Did you not hear the whole damn bar singing your praises? You rallied the whole town this morning, that's not something to take lightly." Delia looked stunned and opened her mouth to say something, but Milly suddenly slid sideways off her chair and nearly crashed to the floor, saved at the last moment by Karen's strong grip on one of Milly's arms.

"Oh dear," said Meryl. She shook her head and stood. "We should go," she told the girls. Meryl checked the clock above the bar; it was hanging lop-sidedly and she was tipsy enough to actually need to tilt her head to read it, squinting slightly. "We need to get sleep. We're leaving early tomorrow."

"Should I help you get her home?" Karen asked Meryl, looking worriedly at Milly.

"It's alright," Meryl assured her. "We've managed with worse."

"I'm fine," Milly said, collecting her ice-pack and standing upright again. "The floor moved back there, but it's fine now."

"Good-bye, girls," Meryl said, smiling at the sisters. "It's been wonderful meeting you."

"You'll come visit, occasionally?" Karen asked, hopefully.

"Of course!" said Milly, beaming, before Meryl could reply that this was unlikely. Instead she said nothing, sighing.

"Alright, let's go," Meryl coaxed, leading the younger woman out of the saloon.

Thankfully, once out in the cool night air Milly seemed to sober up considerably and Meryl let go of her elbow. Milly sighed happily. "They're good girls, aren't they?" she asked Meryl.

"They are," Meryl agreed, nodding to herself.

"Wait!" a voice called, and Meryl and Milly turned. It was Delia, somewhat out of breath from running after them. She glanced between the two older women and then addressed Milly, panting: "Can I—could I talk to Meryl for a minute?"

Meryl looked to Milly, who looked about as surprised as Meryl felt.

"Go on ahead, Milly," said Meryl, nodding at the younger woman. "I'll be up in a minute." Milly smiled at Delia again, giving one last little wave, and did as Meryl bade her.

Delia waited for Milly to disappear around the corner and took a deep breath before saying, "I just wanted to thank you."

"What for?" Meryl asked, bewildered.

"Just, being here, mostly," said the girl, half-shrugging awkwardly. "Showing me and Karen—and Daddy—that it's possible. To be a woman in your kind of profession. And for the sheriff idea." Delia stopped, hesitating. "I don't know that I'll be gutsy enough—"

"You've got the guts," Meryl assured her. "You just need the confidence. Trust yourself." She pointed back at the bar, where shouts and laughter of celebration still raged on, and said, "They trust you."

For a moment they stood in silence. Meryl was beginning to fear she'd gone too far and passed into cliché—_Trust yourself?_ She might well have said, "Believe in yourself!" Then, much to Meryl's surprise, Delia hugged her.

"Thank you, Meryl," said the girl again, squeezing once more before releasing her. Delia smiled and returned to the saloon, waving good-bye as she stepped out of sight.

Meryl stood there for a moment, half-stunned at the girl's words (not to mention the display of affection), before turning and continuing her walk to the inn. Still somewhat bemused, Meryl was taken completely off guard when someone grabbed her from behind and the world turned suddenly upside-down.

It took Meryl a second or so to actually realize what was happening. She was being dipped, as though at the end of a dance number, bent backwards nearly double and supported (and held firmly in place) by strong arms—and he was _kissing_ her.

It only lasted a moment, but in that moment a dozen things seemed to race through her mind. Her heart skipped a beat despite herself, just remembering what it felt like to be kissed, it had been so long… Sun-chapped lips were scratchy and warm against hers; hot breath mingled where their noses barely touched.

Meryl didn't even have time to push him away before he drew back enough to look down at her.

"Oh hello!" said the Idiot brightly, flashing her a broad grin. "I thought you were that charming young lady tending bar."

And then he dropped her.

Meryl landed hard on her ass and shoulders and it all happened so quickly she couldn't keep the back of her head from hitting the hard-packed dirt ground outside the saloon. For a moment she saw stars, and when her vision cleared the Idiot was walking away whistling, with a bounce in his step.

Meryl was on her feet in an instant, almost snarling in her anger. She lunged for the Idiot's neck, but two strong arms wrapped around her middle from behind, yanking her backwards and clear off her feet.

"Ma'am!" said Milly, in a scolding tone, holding Meryl dangling several feet in the air.

"Let—me—go!" Meryl ordered, through gritted teeth. She was struggling against Milly's vice-like grip, but the Idiot had reached the door; he smiled back at her and Milly, waving merrily, and said, "Ciao!" before disappearing inside again.

After a few moments, once her breathing had calmed (and after Milly made her promise she had collected herself), Meryl's feet were back on the ground.

"What are you doing back down here?" demanded Meryl, trying not to sound angry.

"You have the key," Milly said, confused, pointing at Meryl's pocket. "I had forgotten."

"Oh," said Meryl, flustered. "Of course. Sorry." She handed the key to Milly and followed her partner stiffly back to the room they shared, her face burning red with embarrassment.

_How much had Milly seen?_

While Milly took her turn to brush her teeth, Meryl stripped off her deep violet leggings and white tunic in favor of the long shirt she preferred for sleep. She pulled the covers on her bed free—Milly had made it again sometime when Meryl wasn't looking—and punched one of her pillows into shape. More than once she imagined the man's face in the pillow's place. He was just so damn _aggravating_…

"All yours, Ma'am," called Milly cheerfully, stepping out of the bathroom.

Meryl found her own toothbrush and walked to the mirror, her bare feet cold on the floor. She squeezed toothpaste onto the bristles and started in on the more hard-to-reach areas back behind her molars. The already unpleasant combination of mint-flavored toothpaste and lingering alcohol-breath mixed suddenly with something else altogether and she made a face at the taste. She touched her lips with her free hand and her fingers came away sticky. Frowning, she glanced down and rubbed the substance between her thumb and forefinger before, hesitantly, licking the tip of her index finger.

Donut glaze.

Meryl's forehead ached where here eyebrows came together and she resumed furiously scrubbing out her mouth, so vigorously it made her gums ache. She realized now, looking at her reflection in the mirror, the most truly infuriating thing of all was that in that moment, when the Idiot drew back from the kiss and saw her face, there wasn't even a glimmer of surprise in his eyes. He knew perfectly well who she was when he first seized her from behind.

That _bastard._

When she crawled into bed, Meryl lay awake and restless despite exhaustion from the day's events. Her indignation at the Idiot's behavior was enough to keep her up most of the night, and when she did finally manage to nod off, she slept poorly.

Waking up cranky in the morning, Meryl declined Milly's invitation to breakfast. She wasn't sure she could restrain herself from strangling the Idiot if they happened to cross paths. Her fingers twitched spasmodically at the thought, her hands seizing around an imaginary neck. How _dare_ he…

Besides, she still had the report to write for the company.

_Ugh._

The room's small desk was facing the window and by the time Meryl had set up the heavy typewriter she could see the lawmen from the next town over had arrived. She watched them pile Supposed-Vash and his men into a paddy-wagon that seemed almost too small to fit all five of them. Even from the second-floor window Meryl could hear a lot of uncomfortable noises from the prisoners as the lawmen drove off, bumping along across the sand.

Meryl gave a curt little nod of _good riddance_ and went to work on the report.

It was fairly straightforward; by now the "it-was-somebody-else-using-the-name-for-their-own-purposes" result was pretty much the standard in her reports. Meryl felt the need to notify the company as well that the town had no real law enforcement staff—just in case anything _else_ ever happened to prove the mayor wrong about the nothing-big-will-ever-happen-here issue.

On second thought, Meryl pulled the finished (and almost flawlessly typed—_sigh_) report from her typewriter and re-copied it, adding a note in the middle that gave Delia's name as the authority that the company should contact for any further information about the incident.

As Meryl licked the lid of the envelope and sealed it shut she caught a flash of red in her peripheral vision. Down in the street the Idiot was leaving town, walking out into the desert with his black bag slung over one shoulder. She scowled at his retreating back and stood, tucking the envelope in her pocket as she began putting the typewriter away again.

Milly returned to the room just as Meryl had finished with the typewriter. She handed Meryl a small parcel wrapped in a paper napkin.

"What's this?" Meryl asked, already opening it.

"Breakfast," said Milly. "Bacon and egg sandwich, for the road."

Meryl grinned, just the smell of bacon immediately cheering her.

"Thank you!"

They packed their bags with the speed and efficiency of much practice, and paid the innkeeper his fee. Their Thomas were tethered outside when they arrived, and Meryl managed to load up her bags without receiving any bites to her elbows.

"We're going east," she announced, pulling herself up onto the Thomas.

"That's funny," said Milly. "Mr. Vash was headed that direction when I passed him this morning."

"He's not Vash," Meryl said automatically.

"Are we following him?" Milly tossed out, casually. Meryl glanced sideways at her but Milly was busy arranging her saddle before mounting.

"No, we're just—headed that way, too."

"Oh?" said the younger woman, now seated comfortably on the Thomas. Milly had one eyebrow raised and wore that near-smirk again. "Why's that?"

"Uh…" Meryl groped for a reasonable explanation. "Because," she said finally.

"Yes, Ma'am," said Milly, laughter shining silently in her eyes.

Meryl chose to ignore this and urged her Thomas forward.


	18. Episode 4, Love & Peace, Part 1

A massive sandstorm picked up within hours of leaving Warrens, and Meryl and Milly lost track of the Idiot—not that they were following him, of course. Without a proper heading, Meryl couldn't be sure they were on track to Orleans or not, but the sands weren't too thick for them to lose sight of the suns and for two days they traveled by Meryl's solar navigation.

The Thomas they had bought were of a sturdy breed that didn't seem to mind the sand that whipped around them and chapped the women's skin, and Meryl was thankful they never became finicky and demanded to turn back or find shelter (as some of her previous mounts would certainly have done). The women, on the other hand, needed to wrap themselves in extra layers of clothing to combat the sand beating against them, hooding their heads and covering their faces as much as possible.

On the third day the storm was so powerful the skies were almost dark and they were riding blind into the sand. The ground beneath the Thomas feet became rocky and Meryl decided she and Milly should dismount and walk the creatures for a time, for fear of another surprise rockslide as they had experienced in the past. Meryl also knew that there was a long descent into Orleans and hoped that this change in the terrain might be the start of it.

"Come on," Meryl shouted to Milly, trying to be heard over the rushing sands as she swung down from the Thomas saddle. "Let's walk a while." Meryl had taken only two steps when she tripped on something and fell forward, clutching at the Thomas reins for support but still landing hard on one hand. She crouched down on her knees and felt around for whatever she'd stumbled over, finding a roughly fashioned cross made of two planks of wood lashed together with rope so old it practically crumbled to dust in her hands.

"What is it, Ma'am?" asked Milly, at Meryl's shoulder.

Meryl hesitated, but she knew perfectly well what it was.

"I think it's a grave marker," she told Milly. At though cued by these words, the storm around them ceased very suddenly; the winds disappeared, pouring sand heavily over their heads as it dropped in waves from the sky. It was light again, and Meryl gasped loudly. The ground all around them was littered with these makeshift wooden crosses, all of them as old and decrepit as the one Meryl still held in both hands.

"My god," whispered Milly. The massive graveyard stretched on for hundreds of yarz, as far as they could see. Meryl could see the town of Orleans in the distance and wondered if these sad, wooden markers would lead them all the way there.

They stood in silence for a long time, trying to really comprehend what they were seeing.

Then Meryl swallowed and gripped the reins of her Thomas.

"Let's make this quick," she said, feeling uneasy as she stepped forward. Milly caught her elbow.

"We'll go around," said the younger woman. Meryl looked back in surprise.

"Milly, that could take days—"

"We'll. Go. _Around,_" Milly growled through gritted teeth, squeezing Meryl's arm almost painfully. Her gaze out over the endless stretch of graves was fierce, something Meryl had never seen. When Milly turned, Meryl almost recoiled from the intensity of look the younger woman gave her.

"Of course," said Meryl, shaken. "Of course."

They made town by sunrise the next morning, and to be honest Meryl was glad Milly had insisted on the detour. She didn't want to think about walking over the dead. It also gave her time to ponder what she had seen in Milly's eyes. This was the first time Meryl had ever seen the younger woman truly…_what_, exactly? Meryl couldn't name it. Milly had been upset before, but over more trivial issues. She'd never really been angry, either, just that same "upset." This hadn't been real anger either. It had been something much more intense; it was _passion_, and Meryl didn't know why.

The winds had picked up again as they reached Orleans proper and Meryl and Milly threw themselves into the first building they came across, unwrapping the cloth over their heads and faces enough to look around and see where they'd ended up.

The saloon.

_Of course._

Meryl wanted to wail in misery. She so desperately wanted a bath, but the amiable barkeeper told her that the inn was at the opposite end of town. Meryl wasn't sure they could make it any farther through the storm, they were so exhausted, so she let Milly talk her into staying there until it died down again. Meryl did her best to just relax and catch her breath and drink the glass of whiskey that Milly pressed into her hand.

But the radio at the end of the bar kept repeating the storm warnings for the Orleans area and the whiskey just wasn't enough. Meryl's skin itched from the sand and her hair stuck up at odd angles from sweat and oil, and she couldn't stand it. She finished the last of her drink and walked across the room to the bar.

It took a moment for Meryl to catch the bartender's attention—a good chunk of the town's population was trapped in here, due the storm—but he smiled at her and made his way to her end of the bar.

"My friend and I have been traveling for days," Meryl began, her voice hoarse, but the bartender spoke over her, looking sympathetic.

"And you'd like to wash up?" he asked. Meryl's heart sunk. Clearly he'd been asked this favor before. She sighed and opened her mouth to thank him anyway, but the man spoke again. "I can get you a few litres of good, clean water," he said, patting her on the shoulder. "It's not much, but it's enough to wash up your face and hands properly."

Meryl's insides practically melted. "Thank you," she whispered. "I'll tell my partner."

When Meryl returned to Milly to explain, the younger woman looked equally relieved. Milly pulled fresh clothes for each of them from the luggage they carried, and together they followed the bartender to the washroom in the back of the saloon.

The women were careful with the limited water supply, but each managed to get her face clean to her satisfaction, and Meryl was even able to rinse her hair with the dregs. Even over a dirty body, clean clothing was a blessing and Meryl was more comfortable and considerably calmer when they returned to the bustling noise of the saloon.

As they stepped out from the back room, Meryl and Milly both started in surprise at a female voice suddenly shrieking happily nearby.

"I won, I won!"

The cry came from a table near the bar that Meryl hadn't noticed earlier, but now she saw a young woman about Milly's age, much too well-dressed for a place like this. She was spreading a hand of cards out on the poker table in front of her, face-up. "I won again!" she said, clapping silk-gloved hands.

The man sitting across the table from her just groaned and leaned forward, rubbing his face with one hand before pushing his chair back and standing.

"You're leaving?" the girl asked, her expression changing from giddy to heartbroken in an instant.

"I can't afford any more of this," said the man, gruffly, pulling his hat down over his eyes to cast his face in shadow. Meryl thought he might be embarrassed to have lost to this girl.

"You've done very well, miss," said a man Meryl hadn't seen at first glance. He was in his late forties, at least, and just as well-dressed as the young woman. This man had to be her servant—butler, or chaperone perhaps?—and Meryl was fairly surprised that he had managed to escape her notice. "Perhaps we should go home?" the man suggested wearily, clearly hoping his charge would agree.

"But I'm on a winning streak!" she wailed, pouting. Meryl knew that no man, regardless of age, would argue with such a pout. Then the woman seemed to notice Meryl and Milly. "How about you two?" she asked hopefully.

"No," said Meryl, flatly. "Thank you," she added, not meaning to sound rude. She sent Milly on to their table and stayed at the bar to request another two glasses of whiskey. The bartender handed them over hurriedly, trying to fill a larger order to the man standing next to Meryl. The man turned suddenly, knocking Meryl sideways. She landed practically in another man's lap where he sat at the bar and he helped Meryl back to her feet as she blushed, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking over the man she'd accidentally bumped into. Even sitting down, Meryl could tell he was tall, his broad shoulders almost twice the width of hers. His hat was pulled down low over his eyes and his heavy black cloak was just as dust-worn as hers. And he practically radiated an atmosphere of quiet power and strength.

"It's alright," said the man, quietly, without looking at her.

Puzzled, Meryl returned to Milly just in time to hear another loud wail coming from the card table.

"Oh, not anybody?" cried the woman, her supply of willing opponents finally exhausted. Her voice grated on Meryl's nerves…

"I'll play."

The voice was deep and quiet, though it could be heard in every corner of the saloon—and Meryl recognized it.

"Wonderful!" said the woman, happily. Meryl could hear her shuffling the cards. "Hurry up, before my luck changes!"

"On one condition," said the low voice.

"Okay!" said the woman, excitedly. Meryl winced—she could think of plenty of things that woman should not be agreeing to without knowing.

"We play for your life."

Meryl heard the unmistakable sound of a revolver's hammer pulled back into position. She spun where she sat, the fingers of her left hand gripping the back of her chair even as she reached for a derringer with the other. It was the man Meryl had fallen on, dressed all in black from his hat to his boots, standing at the bar while the terrified young woman stared up the barrel of his gun.

It went deathly silent in the saloon, save for the ceiling fan overhead. Meryl glanced up to see it was missing a blade, which unbalanced it and made it spin strangely, making repeated _ker-clunk, ker-clunk_ noises with every rotation.

_Ker-clunk, ker-clunk, ker-clunk…_

Meryl held her breath.

_Ker-clunk, ker-clunk, ker-clunk…_

Someone on Meryl's left suddenly leapt to his feet, drawing a gun.

"Drop the—_aaugh!_"

There was a gunshot and the man dropped to his knees, clutching his shoulder. A second man had moved to stand with the man in black, gun pointed menacingly at the saloon at large, scowling at all of them.

Meryl could feel Milly tense up next to her.

_Wait, wait for all the players…_

A third man, and a fourth, stood and moved toward the man in black, but no others appeared. Meryl and Milly shared a glance. There were easily twenty other men in the saloon, all now silent and still. Two dozen hostages were a hell of a lot to keep track of, and to keep in control, and in Meryl's experience such a situation never ended without bloodshed.

"You're all free to go," said the man in black. Meryl gaped at him. He pointed to the man laying bleeding on the floor, saying, "Get that man to a doctor. I only want the girl."

The men around Meryl didn't need telling twice, hurrying to their feet and stumbling over each other trying to get out the door. Two of the injured man's friends lifted him to his feet and carried him out of the saloon.

Milly stood, but Meryl hesitated.

"And the women," called one of the other men. Meryl turned to see a man with short-cropped brown hair pointing at her and Milly. Her heart seized in her chest for a moment but then she saw the man's face devoid of any cruelty, or hunger or lust. He regarded her with a more calculating gaze than anything else, and he turned to the man in black, saying, "Bargaining chips, if it comes to it."

After a moment, the man in black nodded.

Meryl's wrists were suddenly grabbed roughly from behind, held low at her back, and she reacted automatically, bending both elbows and thrusting her hands up along her spine, forcing her captor to release one of her arms. She turned, snaking her free hand up along and around the arm with which the man still held her, twisting her own arm to lever his elbow out the wrong way. He gasped in pain and surprise but still held her other hand tightly, so she pulled the man down, off-balance, with the arm she held trapped and brought her knee up hard into his face.

He dropped with a grunt and Meryl released him, but another arm seized her around the neck from behind, squeezing tightly and cutting off her air. Meryl's hands flew to the heavily muscled bicep at her throat, scratching at the bare skin with her fingernails as she realized she was completely unable to breathe.

"Enough!"

It was undoubtedly the man in black—Meryl knew his voice now—and whoever held Meryl dropped her immediately. She fell to the floor on all fours, breathing heavily. Before she could stand up again someone kicked her back down, flat to the floor, and Meryl felt a heavy boot press down between her shoulder blades, making it even more difficult to breathe. Then she felt cold metal jammed hard into the back of her neck and she froze, realizing someone was pressing the barrel of a gun against her skin.

"Jean, I said enough!" roared the man in black. The gun barrel disappeared and when hands hauled Meryl to her feet it was the man in black himself. He held her by the front of her tunic but was looking at the man who, evidently, had been standing on Meryl moments earlier. Messy black hair hung over the man's bloody face, and he held a gun in one hand. Then, more quietly, the man in black looked seriously to his man and asked, "Are you alright?"

"Bitch broke my nose," Jean spluttered, defiantly. The man in black stared him down and Jean looked away.

"Tie her up," ordered the man in black, handing Meryl off to another man as Jean scowled at her. Still just trying to breathe properly, Meryl didn't struggle while the man with short-cropped hair tied her hands tightly behind her back.

"Christ, we aren't going to hurt you," the man told Meryl, quietly. But Meryl watched Jean still staring angrily at her.

"I'm—sorry," Meryl managed between gasping breaths, realizing the absurdity of such an apology. "It's just—reflex." The man turned her around to face him, incredulous. She must have looked sincere, somehow, because he shook his head, asking, " 'The hell kinda life you lead, lady?"

_You have no idea._

He half-carried her to where Milly and the butler were similarly bound, sitting against the base of the bar.

"Good god, miss," said the butler, white-faced, as Milly looked Meryl over carefully in silence. "Are you alright?"

"I've had worse," said Meryl, coughing. "You alright, Milly?"

"I'm fine," the younger woman said. "I tried to keep the bald one busy, but…"

"The headlock?" Meryl guessed. Milly nodded. "Thanks anyway." Then Meryl lowered her voice. "Stun-gun?"

Milly shook her head, then gestured toward the end of the bar with her shoulder. The massive weapon was leaning against the wall five yarz away. "You?" asked Milly. Meryl nodded, though she had no idea how the men had missed all her derringers in the scuffle.

Meryl noticed suddenly that the man in black still had one other man from the saloon held hostage, cowering on his knees in front of the five men. He looked terrified, his whole body shaking. Then the man in black pulled the captive up by the collar and shoved him roughly toward the door. He tripped and landed on his hands and knees, scrambling up to his feet again before running as fast as he could out of the saloon.

"Tell them!" bellowed the man in black, taking several steps toward the door, where the storm seemed to finally have lessened.

The last hostage was meant to relay demands, Meryl realized.

There was a gurgled scream of terror and Meryl shifted where she sat, catching sight of the well-dressed young woman from the poker table. She was tied up around the torso, hanging by her waist from the now-still ceiling fan, and she was choking out sobs around a cloth gag. The butler saw her and gasped in horror.

"Miss!" he shouted. "No!" The butler started making useless attempts to free himself and only fell sideways for his efforts. Milly kindly helped him back into an upright position with her knees and shoulder, speaking words Meryl couldn't hear, though she knew they would be meant to calm the man.

The man in black approached the young woman he held hostage and waited, standing tall and sure before her. The woman cried harder, breathing raggedly, but eventually calmed slightly, looking her captor straight in the eyes.

"We are not going to hurt you," he told her carefully, and for some reason, Meryl believed him. She would not have imagined this man as a kidnapper, had she met him under other circumstances. He seemed completely genuine to Meryl, too calm a man to upset easily enough to be forced into something so desperate. She couldn't understand what he was doing here…

"You are only the means to an end," the man in black went on. "And when the end comes, you'll leave here unharmed."

This puzzled Meryl as much as it seemed to confuse the other woman.

"Everyone just stay calm," called the man in black, turning away from the woman. His voice was loud enough to ring out through the whole saloon.

There was silence.

"Now what?" asked the short-haired man, pulling a chair out from a table. He turned it around and straddled it, his arms resting across the back of the chair.

"We wait," said the man in black, leaning against the bar next to where Meryl sat. His arms were crossed over his chest and his hat and face were tilted down toward the floor. Meryl wondered how his physical presence could fill the room as completely as his deep voice, even standing so calmly now. She looked over his men, who all seemed ready to wait, just as their leader bade them. How could he hold their allegiance so completely? How much had he offered them?

The bald man crossed to the windows to keep lookout, careful to stay hidden behind the frame. After a few minutes he gasped, surprised.

"Hey!" he shouted. "Someone's coming!"

"What?" asked the man in black, looking up suddenly. "I told them no one was to approach the building!"

Jean rushed to the other window and the two men smashed out panes of glass, pointing their guns through and opening fire.

"Wait—stop!" Meryl shouted over the shooting; what if it was just someone coming to negotiate? "_Stop!_"

The gunfire slowed and then silenced.

"What the hell?" cried the bald man in disbelief, staring out the window from his position behind the wall. "He made it through!"

"Get him in here," growled the man in black, striding forward.

Meryl squinted against the bright sunlight coming through the saloon door and felt her jaw drop as someone was hauled through it.

"Uh," said the Idiot, to four gun barrels thrust immediately into his face. "...Hello?"

Had they not been bound behind her, Meryl would have buried her face in her hands, trying not to cry.

_It can only get worse from here…_


	19. Episode 4, Love & Peace, Part 2

The Idiot stood just inside the saloon, held firmly at gunpoint. He looked surprised but was apparently not too bothered by the small arsenal facing him. The man in black grabbed the Idiot by the collar and shook him.

"What are you, suicidal?" he demanded.

"Or just an idiot?" asked the bald man.

"Just an Idiot," Meryl muttered. The Idiot must have heard her because he craned his neck over the bald man's shoulder, grinning brightly as he saw her. Somehow he pulled one hand free enough to wave cheerfully.

"Hello!" he called. Out of the corner of her eye Meryl saw Milly beaming back at him.

The man with short-cropped hair grabbed the Idiot's arm and twisted it behind his back again, holding him in place for the bald man to punch him hard across the face. The Idiot fell sideways with a loud cry.

"Ow!" he wailed, waving both hands frantically above his head. "Be more gentle! I won't try anything, I swear. Here," he said, falling onto one side, shifting his heavy red duster until his holster was in full view. "Take my gun."

The bald man glowered down at him, but reached for the gun. As soon as he lifted it, the man's eyebrows shot up. "Whoa, this is heavy." He tossed it to the man in black, who hefted it in one hand, also looking impressed.

"It's custom-made," he said. The man in black glanced down at the Idiot, looking somewhat suspicious. "You're packing some serious fire-power…"

"Heh," said the Idiot, smiling vaguely and shrugging. "Just give it back after, alright?"

"Shut up!" yelled Jean, kicking the Idiot where he lay, curling into a ball.

"Oh, leave him alone!" Meryl demanded, shifting her weight forward and up onto her knees, defiantly. She didn't particularly like the man, but she sure as hell didn't think his idiocy alone was enough to warrant such a beating. Jean turned to stare at her again, furious. The Idiot looked equally surprised at Meryl's intervention.

"_You're_ telling _me_ what to do?" said Jean. He started forward, raising his hand to strike Meryl across the face. She flinched and recoiled, closing her eyes, but the blow never came. The man in black had grabbed Jean's wrist.

"That's _enough_, Jean," said the man in black. Jean tried to yank his arm free but the other man held tightly. He spoke quietly, but Meryl heard him anyway. "I know this is hard, but you need to _calm down._" Jean breathed heavily through his nose, but he nodded and the man in black released him. "Marvin, tie him up." The short-haired man produced a length of rope and the Idiot hurried to turn around, offering his hands gladly. Meryl rolled her eyes.

Marvin pushed the Idiot down with the other hostages and Meryl was suddenly squished between his bulk and Milly's back. His head slid off Meryl's shoulder and landed heavily in her lap. The Idiot grimaced up at her.

"Life's been hard since I met you," he told Meryl.

"The feeling," Meryl assured him vehemently, "is _mutual._" With Milly's help, she managed to heft the man back into an upright position.

"Yes, well, I—" The Idiot cut off abruptly, gasping loudly and looking suddenly aghast. Meryl stared at him, confused, and then realized he'd caught sight of the young woman strung up from the ceiling fan.

The woman's eyes were shut tight on tears and she was shaking in her efforts not to cry, whimpering quietly.

"You brutes!" shrieked the Idiot, shuffling sideways—_surprisingly quickly, actually_—toward the woman. "How _dare_ you treat a lady so?" Meryl felt an irrational twinge of annoyance. And what about how she and Milly were being treated?

"Get _down,_" ordered the bald man, using one massive hand to shove the Idiot back onto Meryl. The Idiot quietly grumbled further protests while Milly managed to push him off Meryl again.

For a few minutes there was silence but then the young woman seemed to lose her fragile hold on calm and started to sob again. The gag was making it worse by hampering her breathing and the noises of her panic escalated quickly. Next to Milly, the butler was in tears, too, giving the otherwise quiet saloon a strange sort of echo; Meryl was hearing crying in stereo.

Everyone else's attention seemed to be on the young woman, but Meryl was watching Jean. The man was still using a dirty shirtsleeve to wipe his bloodied nose—_she hadn't broken it, that big baby_—and he seemed restless and fidgety. Meryl had seen how easily he could lose his temper, and now she could tell his calm was breaking again. She glanced sideways at the man in black, wondering if he had as good a handle on his man as he thought.

In the instant Meryl had looked away, Jean leapt forward with an angry shout, drawing his pistol. He ripped the cloth gag from the woman's mouth and shoved the barrel of the gun between her teeth when she gasped in surprise. Now she screamed in alarm, cutting the cry short as Jean grabbed her by the neck.

"Shut up!" he demanded. "Just shut up!"

Many things happened at once.

The butler screamed as both Meryl and Milly were up on their knees in an instant, rising to their feet, and the man in black started forward just as quickly. Then there was a great crashing noise from across the room that seemed to startle everyone present. Jean looked toward the sound at the same moment the man in black reached him, pulling the gun quickly from the woman's mouth. He wrapped an arm around Jean's neck and hauled him backwards, putting heavy pressure on the man's windpipe.

Meryl suddenly realized she and Milly had just revealed how freely mobile they actually were, even tied up, and she fell back to the ground in an instant. Milly followed her lead and they sat back at the bar before anyone had noticed, Meryl hoped. She couldn't be certain, but in all the panic, Meryl didn't think anyone had really paid any attention to them.

But what _had_ happened?

By now Jean had passed out. The man in black let him carefully down to rest on the ground, then rubbed a hand over his own face, tiredly.

"I _told_ you not to bring him," Marvin said, white in the face.

"He has as much right to be here as you," replied the man in black, standing and looking down at Jean.

"I'm s-sorry!" the young woman was spluttering now, tears rolling unchecked down her cheeks. She was hyperventilating in her panic from Jean's assault, desperately trying to rein in more gasping sobs. "If it's m-money you want, Daddy will p-pay anything, anything, just d-don't…please…" No one seemed to pay her any attention.

"What the hell happened?" asked the bald man, finally addressing Meryl's similar concern.

"Sorry, sorry," called the Idiot, from somewhere across the room. His spiky blond hair emerged from under a pile of upturned tables—_that must have been what caused all that racket_—and he appeared somewhat dazed.

"How the hell did you get over there?" demanded Marvin, hurrying over to drag the Idiot free of the clutter. Meryl realized with a start that the Idiot's hands were no longer bound. Marvin had noticed too. "Hey!" He punched the Idiot, who fell, wailing, and then allowed Marvin to tie him up again. This time the man wrapped the Idiot's whole torso in rope, pinning his arms tight to his sides.

Meryl managed to dive forward out of the way when Marvin brought the Idiot back to the other hostages a third time and she avoided being squashed.

By the time she had struggled her way back up into a sitting position, which was no easy feat, things in the saloon seemed to have calmed down again. The young woman had quieted. The Idiot was (finally) contained, and the other hostages were quiet and untroublesome. Jean was coming around.

The man in black went to sit down on his heels at Jean's side and when he sat up they exchanged quiet words. Jean looked oddly stricken as the man in black regarded him seriously and spoke in a low rumble Meryl couldn't make out.

"I'm sorry, Mac," Meryl heard Jean say. "I'm sorry…" The man in black just nodded and clapped a heavy hand on Jean's shoulder once. He stood and returned to his post leaning against the bar next to Meryl, his arms crossed over his chest, face downturned in the shadow of his hat.

Meryl considered him for a moment, struck again by the oddity of such a man in such a situation.

"Who are you?" she asked, finally. "Why are you doing this?" The man in black didn't look at her.

"The last accounting of souls," the man whispered, and Meryl was sure it was only she who had heard him. Then he faced her properly. "My name is Hoban McDonough, and all of this—"

"Something's coming!"

It was the Idiot's voice, and both Meryl and McDonough turned toward him, surprised. The Idiot was across the room again, peering out the window from where he knelt with his arms still tied to his sides.

"Shut up!" hissed the bald man, shoving the Idiot sideways with his knee. "Get out of the way!"

"Is it the wagon?" McDonough asked, moving toward the window, any thoughts of explanation for Meryl forgotten.

"I think so," said Marvin, from where he stood at the other window.

"Get them behind the bar," McDonough ordered, pointing toward Meryl, Milly and the butler without looking.

Jean hauled Milly and the butler up to their feet, one strong hand encircling either of their arms. He led them around the end of the bar and ordered them to sit, but when he came for Meryl, Jean hauled her up by the front of her tunic and threw her down to the floor behind the bar.

"And for God's sake, get him out of the way," came McDonough's voice, his unflappable calm strained very slightly into exasperation.

The next moment Meryl saw the Idiot being dragged around the corner, still protesting the indignity of it all as Marvin picked him up by the belt and collar and threw him behind the bar with the rest of them.

She tried to scramble backward out of the way, but it was no use. Meryl fell back with her bound hands twisted painfully under her, and the Idiot's face ended up buried in her chest. _Again_.

He burst into muffled laughter.

Biting back a growl, Meryl tried to shrug him off. The weight was crushing her hands under her back, making her body bow up awkwardly against the Idiot's torso.

"_Get off me!_" she hissed.

"I can't!" he replied, turning his face sideways so she could hear him, practically nuzzling his cheek into her cleavage. Meryl couldn't be sure, but from her angle it certainly looked like he was grinning. She grimaced and pulled her right leg out from under him, pushing her knee up until she could brace her foot against the base of the bar beside them. Pushing hard against her right foot—_God, he's heavy_—she managed to roll them over in the narrow space until the Idiot was on his back. She had somehow been able to get her left knee under her, too, and she straightened up, kneeling, straddling his middle for one triumphant moment before she lost her balance forward again.

Hands tied behind her and unable to catch herself, Meryl tried to collapse straight down and pushed her legs back as she fell, hoping to avoid smashing her face into the ground. Instead, her chin and forehead and cheekbone all crashed into those of the man laying under her, their faces pressed suddenly together with bruising force.

For a moment Meryl just lay flat against his chest, hardly daring to breathe as his long, pointed nose dug into her cheek.

"Well," he said, and Meryl felt his lips brush her chin as his quiet words came in that low, _other_ voice, giving her sudden goosebumps. His sweet-smelling breath was coming quick and warm on her skin, making her short hair flutter in her eyes and tickle her nose. "Hello."

Meryl's heart was racing as it hadn't been since she had a gun pressed to the back of her neck, and she couldn't justify _why._ She licked her lips nervously and felt breath catch in both their throats as she inadvertently tasted the salty skin of his cheek.

"Still have that knife in your boot?" Meryl finally choked out in a whisper.

"Huh?" Whatever the man had been expecting, it wasn't this.

"In Warrens," she said, her own mouth brushing his high cheekbone as she spoke. "You flattened that car's tire, I'm sure of it."

"Ah," he said, his lips against her chin again. "Hm. Yes."

"Good," said Meryl. "Can you—_erk!_"

The man in red abruptly sat straight up, carrying her with him until she slid down his chest to sit back on her heels, resting in his lap. Meryl stared up at him incredulously.

_He could have done that the whole time?_

She glanced back over her shoulder and watched him tap his right heel sharply on the wood floor. Two small blades appeared on either side of the boot's toe and snapped together at the center to form one double-edged weapon. Meryl turned to face the man in red again, somewhat taken aback. Part of her hadn't really believed him. A brief glint in his green eyes seemed to match the small smirk he gave at her reaction.

"Scoot back," the man in red told her, gesturing at her with an upward jerk of his pointed chin.

Meryl raised herself to her knees and shuffled slowly backwards, keeping her body bent low enough that her head wouldn't be seen above the bar. From the other side of the saloon, she vaguely registered a shouted conversation going on between McDonough and the men outside.

The man in red waited patiently as Meryl sat back again once she reached his boots. She looked over her shoulder, though she had to feel blindly for the blade behind her. "Careful," he warned.

_As though she needed telling._

"Shut up," Meryl whispered. "Just don't move." After a half-minute's searching she found it, her questing fingers thankfully meeting the flat side of the blade first. Twisting her hands so the insides of her wrists were pressed tightly together to protect herself, she held her breath and tried to slip the blade between her skin and the knotted rope. It took three attempts, and a shallow slice across the back of her left hand, but she managed to cut herself free.

Another bounce of the man's heel and the blade disappeared again. He opened his mouth to speak but Meryl talked over him.

"Stay down," she said, pressing a hand to his chest to force him back down to the floor. In her peripheral vision, almost belatedly, Meryl saw his eyebrows rocket skyward but she was too intent on getting to the knife she knew Milly hid in her boot. In the narrow space behind the bar she had to crawl forward over the man in red to reach Milly; the younger woman nodded, offering her leg, and Meryl withdrew the concealed weapon. The man in red let out a small, contented sigh and Meryl realized in horror that she was still straddling his middle and her chest was at his eye-level again.

She scrambled backwards on all fours, both embarrassed and furious, and hurriedly cut through the ropes around the man's arms and chest. Managing to shift sideways, Meryl gave the man in red room to roll over onto his hands and knees. He nodded his thanks and, from the brief sparkle Meryl thought she saw in his eyes, she wondered if he was holding in an Idiot-like grin. A few yarz away, Milly had slipped her own ropes and was busy untying the butler.

From outside the saloon Meryl heard the squealing of tires and the grinding of an overworked engine, the sounds growing louder and louder each moment.

"Look out!" hissed Meryl. She scrambled half-way up to her feet and grabbed the man in red by the collar, hauling him up from his knees and trying to pull him further along down the bar and out of the way—out of the way of what, she didn't know, but an instant later there was a massive crashing sound and half the bar behind them disappeared in an explosion of wood and glass. Meryl fell blindly backwards, desperately trying to shield her face from the shrapnel.

_Shit!_


	20. Episode 4, Love & Peace, Part 3

Meryl fell, flung backward by the impact, and threw her arms up to cover her face. Just as quickly, hands seized her wrists and pulled them apart. She gasped and looked up automatically, despite the danger, and for an instant she saw flashing green eyes. Falling hard on her back, Meryl winced and felt something land heavily on top of her—or nearly so. The man in red had thrown himself down over her, falling hard onto his elbows to keep his weight from crushing her. He bent his head low now, his forehead touching hers as he shielded them both from the shrapnel flying around them.

Moments later the dust was settling and he raised his head enough to look down at her, eyebrows drawn in concern. He had to yell to be heard over the commotion—others in the saloon were shouting loudly to each other now—asking, "Are you alright?" But Meryl was already answering his question, shaking her head hurriedly, dismissively.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she interrupted, her face just iches from his as she tried to scramble out from under him. The rapid report of a dozen different weapons filled the saloon with the deafening sound of gunfire and bullets tore into the high liquor shelves behind the bar. The man in red pulled Meryl back down, shifting even further over her and bending still more closely as bits of broken bottles rained down on them. Meryl shut her eyes tightly and buried her face in the man's collar, hoping to avoid the glass. Somehow over the shouting and commotion on the other side of the bar she could hear the sound of the larger shards of glass bouncing off the man's red jacket, felt tiny splinters of it catching in her hair and knew it would be in his as well.

A moment later the man in red raised himself to his hands and knees and Meryl shuffled backwards on her elbows, scrambling out from under him. They were both breathing hard and, absurdly in the midst of this veritable warzone, Meryl managed to notice again the odd sweetness of his breath.

Meryl could see over the man's shoulder that the wagon McDonough and his men had demanded had crashed into the bar, presumably after smashing through the saloon's entrance. The wheels were still spinning and burning rubber on the saloon floor behind the bar, the engine grinding as the wagon tried futilely to keep moving forward, driverless.

A piercing scream split the air, an unending cry that rang in Meryl's ears even over the noise of the battle happening on the other side of the bar. She and the man in red both understood at the same moment and gaped at each other.

"You go—" began Meryl, and simultaneously the man in red started, "I'll go—" Nothing else needed saying and the man in red disappeared as Meryl was already moving back toward Milly and the butler. Milly had slipped her ropes and was busy untying the terrified man next to her.

"Ma'am," said Milly, her nod to Meryl turning into a wince as bullets swept above the bar again, sending more debris down on their heads.

"Where's your stun-gun?" Meryl asked, but Milly shook her head.

"I tried around the end of the bar, but there's too many of them."

"How many?" asked Meryl, covering her head with her hands as more glass rained down on them.

"I don't know, I couldn't see," Milly explained, almost apologetically.

"Then I'll have a look," said Meryl, tensing up as she waited for an opportunity to act. A moment later there was a brief pause in all the gunfire and Meryl leapt head-first over the counter where she had last seen the stun-gun, rolling as she hit the ground on the other side, breathing a quick sigh of relief as she landed practically on top of it.

There were shouts from the men around her—she could only see them in silhouette from the bright light through the gaping hole the wagon had smashed in the wall—and Meryl grabbed the heavy stun-gun in one hand and threw herself sideways behind a large chunk of the bar itself that had been blown apart from the whole when the wagon first crashed into the saloon. Heavy gunfire punched splintery holes in the wood, missing her by iches, and Meryl scrambled back behind the bar with the others again, heaving the stun-gun towards Milly.

"Ma'am?" Milly asked, the single word question enough between them. Meryl nodded mutely: _Still in one piece._

The man in red had retrieved the young woman and untied her and now she was sitting clutching the butler's arm, crying and breathing in quick gasps. "Are you alright?" the man in red asked them, kneeling in the narrow space next to the woman. When she kept crying he grabbed her elbow and shook her once. "Are you alright!" he hissed, looking fiercely at her. His green eyes flashed momentarily toward Meryl and she gave a tiny, quick nod of her head. The man returned it and then looked back to the sobbing woman, who hiccupped into silence long enough to reply, "Y-yes, I'm fine."

Adrenaline still made her breath come too quickly, but Meryl gave everyone her usual once-over and was glad to find no one seriously injured. Both Milly and the man in red seemed to have some minor cuts from the glass or wood splinters flying around them but the young woman and the butler were unharmed, largely because the rest of them were injured trying to protect them. And, miraculously, no one was shot.

"Five," Meryl told the man in red, tugging at the sleeve of his jacket to get his attention as she tried to catch her breath. He looked at her curiously but then seemed to understand before she finished, in a whisper, "There's five of them."

"But who _are_ they?" asked Milly, quietly. "What do they want?"

"S-Stan," whimpered the girl, through tears. "The sheriff. He m-must have hired them."

At the end of the bar, near the wall, there was movement and a giant figure appeared from under a pile of wooden planks. It was McDonough, extricating himself (with some difficulty) from the remains of the great heavy table he had used as cover during the first volley of gunfire. Still alarmed, Meryl drew a derringer quickly but the man in red stayed her hand. His long fingers circled her wrist and pulled her arm back. She glanced back over her shoulder, but he just shook his head and leaned forward to speak quietly in her ear.

"We're all in the same mess now," he told her. The man in red nodded toward McDonough and the other man made his way toward them, almost silently. The table behind him tipped over and the men on the other side of the bar opened fire again, making everyone duck down. Meryl and the man in red both moved to shelter the young woman while Milly bent low over the butler, and, Meryl saw with a shock of surprise, McDonough put himself between Milly and the falling debris, trying to protect her.

When the shooting stopped again, the man in red held a finger to his lips, conveying the need to stay silent. They waited.

"Where aaaare yoooou?" one of the men across the saloon called, in a weirdly high-pitched sing-song voice.

"Yeah!" said another, thuggish voice. "Come out, so we can shoot ya!"

"_Shut up,_" hissed a third.

There was a tense silence, where Meryl could hear each of their heartbeats pounding like drums behind the bar, surely loud enough for the mean on the other side to hear. She realized she was holding her breath.

Then somewhere else in the saloon there was a different sound:

"_Nyao!_"

The men were already shooting at the cat as it leapt down from the rafters onto the bar counter. The young woman nearly gasped in surprise but two hands clapped tightly over her mouth, one just an instant after the other.

Meryl had gotten there first and the man in red nodded at her, removing his hand from over hers. The woman was breathing quickly through her nose and her eyes were wide, though she nodded when Meryl held a finger to her lips in the same _shush_ gesture the man in red had done earlier.

Bullets sprayed in every direction in the saloon now and Meryl kept hearing the loud yowls and hissing as Kuroneko somehow managed to avoid the gunfire. Meryl removed her hand from the young woman's mouth and then felt an arm wrap around her middle and had to bite back her own gasp of surprise.

"Move," whispered the man in red, but he didn't give Meryl the opportunity, already pulling her sideways toward him, crawling over her to reach the other end of the bar. He grabbed a keg from a stack of the containers piled in the corner and Meryl could tell from the way he hefted it that the keg was full.

The man in red moved back toward the rest of them, keg in hand, lumbering awkwardly so as to keep his head below the height of the bar. "You all stay here," he said, "and keep your heads down." Meryl opened her mouth to protest but the man actually grabbed her chin in one hand to silence her and pulled her face closer to his. From iches away he fixed her with a severe gaze, those sharp, dangerous, _other_ eyes boring into hers. "_Stay,_" he ordered.

Shocked, Meryl could do nothing but sit there and watch him heave the keg high into the air, watch it sail over the bar toward the men on the other side. Almost immediately the keg was riddled with holes and beer sprayed everywhere. Meryl heard it land, crashing into something, and the man in red suddenly leapt forward and planted one hand on the bar counter, throwing himself over to the other side. Meryl almost stood up just to see what the _hell_ was going on and before Milly yanked her down again by the back of her collar she saw the man's revolver in mid-air, flying toward him from nowhere. He caught it deftly and then disappeared from Meryl's view.

There was a resounding silence.

"What are you waiting for? Shoot him!"

Meryl glanced down the bar to see that McDonough was looking just over the counter, despite the other man's order to stay down.

"Sure, shoot him!" one of the thugs said, another different voice. "All the more for us, then!"

Milly was hurriedly checking the state of her stun-gun, too busy to notice Meryl sneaking toward the opposite end of the bar to peek around the corner. The man in red had one massive thug at gunpoint while four of his fellows stood with guns pointed straight back at him.

For a moment, nothing happened. Meryl held her breath, waiting. Then she saw the man in red whisper something, too quietly to be heard. He let his hand fall to his side, pointing the revolver toward the floor.

_What? No!_

"This guy's an idiot!" laughed the man with the high-pitched voice. He stepped toward the man in red and pressed a gun to his chest. Reacting without a real plan, Meryl drew a derringer and darted out from behind the bar. Before she could do anything Milly was already standing, her massive stun-gun trained squarely on the thug threatening the man in red. Meryl saw his eyes widen and turn, but it was too late. A giant metal claw snapped shut on him, propelling him backwards through the window left standing in the saloon's front wall. Another claw barely missed a second thug and Meryl saw some kind of commotion around the man in red, though she had no idea what.

There was some kind of scuffle and Meryl watched one of the thugs shoot his partner in the foot as the man in red ducked casually to one side. The injured man was howling, his aim wavering but still generally pointed in the direction of the man in red. The three of them were all moving clumsily, struggling against one another, too near to each other for Meryl to pick either of the thugs off. Looking around desperately for inspiration, Meryl glanced up and saw the ceiling fan was spinning off-balance again, still making the _ker-clunk, ker-clunk _noise.

For a moment she hesitated, but then resolutely aimed her derringer for the ceiling.

_Oh hell, at least if it takes them all out he won't be shot._

It took two tries, but a moment later the fan fell heavily to the floor. At the last instant, the man in red darted sideways and avoided the spinning blades that nearly crushed the other two men, pinning them down. Meryl gaped as the man in red turned to wink at her, but the next moment she caught sight of one of the thugs still standing turning his gun on Milly, who was still too preoccupied firing the stun-gun on another man to notice.

"Milly, down!" shouted Meryl. At her words the man swung around to aim for Meryl and she threw herself sideways toward what little cover the broken tables nearby could give her. She fired twice even as she heard the report sound loudly from the thug's gun. She felt a quick, searing pain in her left arm and she clapped a hand over it automatically. Kneeling behind the toppled tables, Meryl pulled her palm away bloody, but the bullet had hardly grazed her bicep. It had done more damage to her sleeve than to her arm, really.

There was silence again and Meryl drew another derringer and stepped carefully out into the open.

Only she, Milly, McDonough, and the man in red were left standing.

McDonough moved suddenly toward the man in red and grabbed him by the collar of his jacket, hauling him forward. Meryl stepped toward them, anxious but unsure what to do.

"Why did you hesitate?" McDonough demanded, furious. "Why didn't you shoot him?"

The man in red just looked back at him in silent defiance, giving the other man stare for stare.

"Fine," said McDonough. He released the man in red and looked away. "Nevermind." As McDonough searched for his fallen comrades among the thugs' bodies, kneeling down to check the severity of their injuries, Meryl marveled again at his level of concern for his men.

This clearly wasn't just a man employing random bandits for a kidnapping and payoff. _What's really going on here?_

"I told you!" said the young woman, finally standing. Her voice was weak and her trembling hands were carefully brushing glass off her rumpled skirts in a gesture Meryl was sure was only to calm herself. "I told you that sheriff is crazy!" She coughed and swallowed hard, saying, "But it's over, now, if you stop I can ask Daddy to let you go!"

McDonough was starting to bandage one of his men with a strip of thick cloth torn from his own jacket, but he looked up at the woman. Meryl watched his eyes glance from Milly's stun-gun to the revolver the man in red still held. Then McDonough stood and drew his own gun from its holster, though his arm hung loosely at his side, the gun barrel pointed at the floor.

"I can't do that," he said, quietly.

McDonough thumbed back the hammer of his revolver with a metallic _click_ that seemed to echo through the now-silent saloon.


	21. Episode 4, Love & Peace, Part 4

No one moved.

Meryl knew Milly's stun-gun was out of ammunition, but she didn't think McDonough could tell. And obviously he didn't know how many derringers Meryl actually carried. She thought he was really only looking to the man in red as his opposition, and if she was honest she could understand why.

For a moment Meryl considered the man in red, his green eyes calculating as he regarded McDonough. The red jacket concealed a powerful, if wiry, frame and plenty of hidden strength and lean muscle, she knew. Meryl felt her face half-flush as she remembered _how_ she knew…remembered lying flat on his chest behind the bar, or lying there _under_ him…

Everyone in the room seemed to give a start as the man in red finally holstered his revolver.

"Speak your piece," he told McDonough.

McDonough had watched the other man's actions and after a moment he holstered his gun as well. Under her cloak, out of sight, one of Meryl's hands still clutched a derringer. _Just in case._

They all listened in silence as McDonough spoke.

"Northeast of here there is a massive graveyard," he began. "No," McDonough corrected himself, shaking his head abruptly, "it's a killing field." Next to her, Meryl felt Milly suddenly stiffen. "My family—all our families—" McDonough gestured around the room at his men, "—lie under that ground, so barren now that even corpse weeds won't grow."

He sighed.

"When people first came here this land was nothing, just sand and dirt, and our families worked hard, every day, to make use of it. Ten years it took," said McDonough, "_ten years_ to make the soil here arable. Our families grew the crops that fed this town, that sustained the community."

Meryl watched McDonough's face suddenly darken and just as she had felt his calm prevail before, his anger made the room go cold and bleak.

"Until your father killed them," McDonough said, turning to the young woman. His voice was full of anger but it wasn't directed at the woman herself, which Meryl thought was impressive. She wasn't sure she would be able to marshal her own emotions the same—hate the father, yet treat the daughter with no contempt?

Then McDonough spoke to the rest of them again: " 'Grim Reaper' Bostalk. He killed off whole families, in cold blood, just to steal the land they worked their _whole lives_ to make usable and fertile. And then he let it all decay again, out there. So he slaughtered them all, for nothing.

"That man _owns_ this town now, and he is responsible for the murder of my family," finished McDonough. "Mine and my men's. And now I've come back to this place, after fifteen years, after finally mustering the courage to face that man. To kill him, for what he's done."

Meryl had watched the young woman go more and more pale as McDonough went on, and now she finally spoke, cutting through the sort of silent trance they all seemed to be under while McDonough was speaking.

"You're lying!" cried the woman. She tried to come across as angry but just sounded unsure and she glanced sideways to the butler for reassurance. The older man wouldn't meet her eye, looking determinedly down at his feet as if he could see right through the floorboards.

"What would I gain from lying now?" McDonough asked her, quietly. He gestured out toward the street and said, "I couldn't care less about the money, it was just to draw your father here. Whatever happens next, I won't run. But I will avenge my family—all our families—" McDonough waved around the room at his men, "—_now_. Here, today."

The woman didn't seem able to come up with anything else to say, and McDonough turned to face the man in red, as though waiting for his judgment on the matter.

"That's not something easily forgotten," said the other man, after a moment. McDonough seemed to take this as assent and gave a brief nod. The man in red turned and took a few steps toward the door but Meryl jumped forward and seized his elbow, holding him back.

"You can't go out there!" she said, alarmed. "You have no idea whether or not they'll—"

"It's alright," said the man in red, covering her hand with his to pull it free, turning to face her. "It'll be—your arm!" For a moment Meryl didn't understand what had made his calm expression turn immediately to alarm, but then she realized he had caught sight of the bloody mangled sleeve of her tunic, still mostly covering the injury she had sustained in the gunfight earlier.

"It's just a graze," she assured him, pulling her elbow out of range as the man in red reached out to her. "But you'll get more than that out there! How do we know they won't just open fire the moment they see movement in the shadows?"

"Because we still have the girl," said the man in red. Meryl noticed immediately his choice of words.

"We?" she asked. The man blinked, seeming only then to realize what he had said. For a few moments he held Meryl's gaze as she watched him, waiting for an answer. _Is he really aligning himself with McDonough?_ "You know he means to kill—"

"No one is going to die here today," the man in red told her, and the sincerity of both his voice and his expression actually made her believe it. He turned toward the door and Meryl held him back again, her hand wrapped more tightly around his wrist.

"I'll go," she said suddenly, though as she did so she felt a surge of panic. She forced it down and made the argument: "They have no reason to mistrust me, and as they think I'm a hostage it would come across as an act of good faith on McDonough's part."

"They have no reason to _trust_ you, either," said the man in red, putting his hand over hers again. "I'm a known entity—an Idiot—" Meryl could practically hear the emphasis, just as she always used it, "—and besides," he went on, with just the hint of an Idiot grin, "I haven't been shot in a long while, I might be due."

Meryl stood stunned, unsure what to make of this statement, but the man in red just looked down at her, earnestly, with clear green eyes that seemed to see right through her affected bravado and into her anxiety. "Trust me," he said, squeezing her hand.

_Did she?_

After another long pause, Meryl released his wrist.

_Yes._

He nodded to her, turned, and walked out into the street.

Meryl moved to stand at the side of the window, a derringer clutched tightly in each hand as she watched the man in red walk out into the open. His hands were raised, palms facing the men outside, and Meryl heard him call out to the sheriff and his men, explaining that McDonough wanted to exchange Bostalk's daughter for a chance to face the man himself. Then he moved to kneel over each of McDonough's men, assessing their injuries and speaking quietly to them before returning to the saloon.

"Your men will live," the man in red told McDonough. "The gunshot wound isn't severe but the other needs attention soon."

"They're already moving them," called Milly. She was standing by the wall nearest the smashed-in section of the saloon's front, looking out toward the street. Turning back to address McDonough, she asked, "Does this town have an infirmary?"

McDonough nodded. Nothing else happened.

"Well," said the man in red, when none of them moved or spoke. "Fifteen years…"

This seemed to spur McDonough into action, reminding them all what was happening there. He grimaced and took Bostalk's daughter by the elbow, guiding her out of the saloon in front of him. The man in red followed McDonough, and Meryl and Milly followed the man in red.

Bostalk was waiting for them.

Meryl almost did a double-take. Bostalk was a distinguished, clean-cut older gentleman, dressed in a tailor-made suit and matching shined wingtip shoes. Under different circumstances, she would not have imagined this man to be the murderer McDonough had described. But she remembered the anger in McDonough's voice and the pain in his eyes as he shared his story, and there was no doubt in Meryl's mind that it was true.

But she still wasn't sure it justified a quick-draw showdown. Anxiety mounted in Meryl as she tried to think of some way out of this situation, some other outcome, but the scene was unfolding around her just like a dozen other duels she had witnessed in the past. And someone always ended up dead.

They stood in the middle of the street and the man in red motioned for her and Milly to move away but Meryl hesitated, trying to catch his eye, trying to ask for help, to ask him to end this. The man turned to look at her as he gestured again for her to move, and his eyes met and held her gaze.

_Trust me._

After another moment she swallowed hard and pulled Milly back a few paces. The man in red came to stand at Meryl's side and the three of them watched, and waited.

"You have what you want," Bostalk called. "Let my daughter go."

McDonough did so and Meryl watched him mouth the words, "Forgive me," as he released her. At Meryl's shoulder, the man in red offered the young woman his hand, beckoning her away from where her father and McDonough were facing off. She moved toward where Meryl, Milly, and the man in red were waiting, but she stood apart.

Meryl watched the young woman shaking with silent tears, her hands tightly gripping fistfuls of fabric at the sides of her dress as she stared at her father.

_What must she be thinking, now?_

"It's hard to have a past you can't bury," Meryl murmured. A swell of emotion and memories threatened to crash over her and she wiped her mind blank immediately, with practiced ease. In her peripheral vision she saw the man in red glance suddenly down at her, wide-eyed. By the time she looked back up at him he was moving away, stepping forward to stand by the young woman.

The man in red leaned down to speak to her, his lips mouthing words iches from the woman's ear, but Meryl couldn't hear them. She would give her left arm to know what he was saying now, but her attention was drawn away as McDonough and Bostalk each settled into a more solid shooting stance where they stood in the street.

An almost tangible hush fell over the onlookers: the man in red, Meryl, Milly, the woman, the sheriff, his men; all watching in heavy silence.

And they waited.

The winds that had earlier plagued Meryl's and Milly's journey picked up again as though the weather itself could feel the tension in the street. Dust blew about their ankles and in the distance above them a raging sandstorm arose and blocked out the sun. Just as suddenly, the storm was gone and the sun shone down on the scene again.

Both men drew.

Meryl heard two gunshots in rapid succession and for a moment nothing happened. The street was so silent again that she thought every man there must be holding his breath. Then Bostalk collapsed.

The young woman screamed and raced to where her father lay. Milly was kneeling there next to her only a few moments later, her experienced hands and eyes surveying the man's wounds. From across the street Milly caught Meryl's eye and tapped two fingers at a location about an ich below the end of her left clavicle, and then nodded. Meryl moved forward to tell both McDonough and the man in red.

"Just a shoulder wound," she said. "He'll live." She couldn't be sure how McDonough would react to this information; his face remained just a mask of muted anger.

"Thank you," the man in red said to McDonough. He stepped forward to rest a hand on the other man's shoulder. "For not—"

"Don't," growled McDonough, sharply. He shrugged off the hand. "A distraction threw my aim."

McDonough certainly appeared angry, for all intents and purposes, but Meryl saw him watching the young woman care for her father with an almost sympathetic expression. He looked up to see Meryl regarding him and glanced away again immediately, his lips pressing together in a more convincing expression of anger, or at least of irritation that Meryl had caught him acting contrary to his claims of hatred for Bostalk.

Meryl realized in that instant that McDonough hadn't just failed to kill Bostalk, he had actively avoided doing so; he wouldn't do to that woman what her father had done to him, to gun down and take away the only family she had. Her respect for McDonough grew still further.

Before she could say anything, he spoke again.

"It's done," McDonough said, gruffly. "I'll turn myself over to the law now." He faced the sheriff and offered his hands, wrists together.

"Whoa there," said the sheriff, laughing suddenly as he spoke up for the first time. "Not just yet."

While Meryl's attention was on McDonough, she'd failed to notice the sheriff's men forming a loose ring around the scene and now they all turned their weapons on those inside the circle. Meryl faced down a dozen gun barrels with a familiar feeling more of exhaustion than of fear or anxiety. After everything else that had already happened…

_You've got to be kidding._


	22. Episode 4, Love & Peace, Part 5

Meryl felt the familiar ache in her forehead as her eyebrows came together, glancing around the circle of men pointing weapons in on the rest of them.

"I said I'd come quietly," McDonough repeated, more loudly. He stepped forward toward the sheriff again but each of the men surrounding them turned instantly to aim solely at McDonough. He stopped abruptly, hands raised at shoulder height, and the other men resumed their coverage of the group as a whole.

"What is this?" asked the man in red, frowning at the sheriff. Out of the corner of her eye Meryl saw the gloved fingers of his right hand begin reaching, ever so slowly, toward the revolver at his hip. Some yarz away, Milly and Bostalk's daughter still knelt by the fallen man, looking as alarmed as Meryl felt. One of the sheriff's men moved to stand just behind Milly, his rifle angled down almost at the back of her head. Milly caught Meryl's eye but conveyed nothing other than concern.

"An _incredible_ stroke of good fortune," replied the sheriff, grinning. "I've thought on this for years, but never imagined such a perfect opportunity." He suddenly held up his hands and spread them wide as though tracing the outline of a long banner in the air in front of him. "_Trapped criminal kills Mr. Bostalk! Sheriff forced to shoot bandit attempting resistance!_" His grin grew, if possible, even broader. "Makes for a catchy headline, don't you think?"

Meryl's blood ran cold. The young woman had been right; the man _was_ twisted.

"Stan! How _dare_ you!" shrieked Bostalk's daughter. She jumped halfway to her feet but Bostalk suddenly seized her arm from where he lay, pulling her back down to her knees.

"_No,_" the injured man warned. Then he spoke to the sheriff, choking out, "Please…not my daughter…"

The sheriff walked toward the other man and Milly tried to pull Bostalk's daughter back, out of the way, to put herself between the young woman and the sheriff. The sheriff just squatted down on his heels at Bostalk's side and took off his hat, smiling down at the other man.

"How does it feel to be on the other side of the scythe, 'Reaper?' " asked the sheriff. Then he chuckled, and clapped a hand hard on Bostalk's back, just over the bullet wound on his shoulder. Bostalk screamed in pain and the sheriff stood, grinning. He looked down at Bostalk's blood on his hand with an eerie detachment that made Meryl feel a little ill.

"As for the rest of you," the sheriff called, gesturing dismissively at Meryl, McDonough, and the man in red as he absently wiped Bostalk's blood from his hand onto his slacks. "Throw down your weapons." None of them moved immediately and the sheriff suddenly dropped his seemingly careless attitude, growling, "_Now._" His men stepped forward, closing the circle around them more tightly, and Meryl saw the barrel of the rifle trained on Milly actually brush the hair at the side of her head.

The man in red tossed his revolver onto the ground in front of them and McDonough's joined it a moment later. Meryl gritted her teeth and started to reach into the folds of her cloak with her right hand. Much to her surprise, the man in red surreptitiously caught the wrist of her free hand and squeezed. Glancing up quickly, Meryl saw the man give a jerk of his chin, just a fraction of an ich.

The sheriff began speaking again and Meryl realized what the man in red had already noticed; the other man thought she was unarmed.

"It's been fifteen years, Bostalk," the sheriff continued, looking around him at the street and dilapidated buildings. "Fifteen years in this miserable place, and I'm still just Sheriff while you practically own the whole town." He squatted down again, even closer, to address Bostalk directly, but he still spoke loudly enough for all of them to hear. "I remember, Bostalk, when you took this all by force. But you should have shared that wealth, because now I'm taking it from you instead." The sheriff pulled his gun from its holster, holding it loosely in his hand as he looked down at Bostalk. "The same way we did then."

"_What?_" demanded McDonough, stepping forward. "You were _one_ of them?" The huge man leapt forward with a snarl of fury and the sheriff stood and spun around to face him, his gun pointed straight between McDonough's eyes.

The man in red had managed to seize hold of McDonough, restraining him, though it seemed to be taking a great deal of effort. Meryl had grabbed McDonough's other arm, but with her limited mass he was still dragging her forward despite her efforts to dig her heels into the ground.

"Stop," whispered the man in red, urgently, loud enough only for Meryl and McDonough to hear. "Stop! You'll just get yourself killed; you have to wait—_wait!_—to see how this plays out." McDonough was still breathing heavily and Meryl felt his anger radiating off him in waves but he stopped fighting them, shrugging out of their grasp, glaring so fiercely at the sheriff that Meryl thought it was remarkable the man didn't just burst into flames where he stood.

The sheriff only smiled, looking absurdly pleased with himself. Meryl couldn't believe the man could stay so blasé about the situation he had created, how ready he was to kill indiscriminately for what he wanted.

"Lovely!" he said, surveying the lot of them. "Like toothless stray dogs. It feels grand to be superior!" He drew a long breath through his nose and let it out contentedly.

"And what's your plan for us?" Meryl demanded, finally speaking up, still in disbelief at the man's deluded vainglory.

"I beg your pardon?" asked the sheriff, blinking at her as though seeing her for the first time.

"Me, and my partner," she said, gesturing at Milly. "This man—" the man in red stood next to her and she touched his arm "—we have nothing to do with this. You can't expect us to just—"

"Oh, my dear girl," the sheriff interrupted, giving a little laugh as he looked almost pityingly at her, wearing a small indulgent smile. He stepped closer to her and Meryl tensed, ready at any moment to reach for a derringer. "I'm afraid you'll be just a bystander caught in the crossfire," he told her, reaching out to touch her face.

Meryl recoiled and her fingers wrapped around the enameled grip of one of her pistols automatically. The man in red grabbed her wrist before she could draw, pulling her behind him as he stepped forward toward the sheriff.

"And how does it feel?" the man in red asked. Meryl felt a little shock to hear that _other_ voice, low and dangerous, and she watched the sheriff's eyes harden as he, too, noted the sudden change. "To kill unarmed men and women?"

The sheriff sneered back at the man in red, refusing to back down, even seeming to enjoy the confrontation. A sick grin spread slowly across his face.

"How does it feel," replied the sheriff, his quiet voice scathing. "…to burn your garbage?"

If Meryl had thought McDonough's presence could fill a room, it was nothing compared to what she felt next. The man in red still held Meryl's wrist and though his grasp didn't tighten even the slightest increment, she felt his surge of anger and disgust as an almost physical blow. It actually forced her a half-step backward and she felt like he'd knocked the breath from her lungs.

"Well then," said the man in red, his voice so low Meryl could almost feel his words more than hear them.

He gave Meryl no warning; she didn't need it. The man in red lunged sideways, tackling McDonough to the ground. Sweeping her arms up away from her sides, Meryl threw open her cloak even as she drew two derringers and began firing.

Some part of her always enjoyed that first instant of total shock on any adversary's face as he got a good look at her arsenal, and today Meryl got to see that expression a dozen times over, starting with the sheriff.

His sick, gloating grin vanished in an instant and he gaped at Meryl in open-mouthed astonishment. Then he threw himself flat to the ground and Meryl's first discarded derringers fell over his head and shoulders.

Across the circle, Milly had flattened Bostalk and his daughter to the ground as well, protecting them from the sudden gunfire. Meryl had already disarmed the man standing over them, burying her first two bullets in the old wood stock of his rifle, making him cry out in alarm and drop the weapon. The rest of the sheriff's men turned their own guns on her and Meryl dived sideways as they opened fire.

It was exhilarating; Meryl hadn't been in a good gunfight in over a year, not really, not single-handedly against a crowd. It came naturally to her, being able to see everything happening around her and react accordingly. She didn't wound if she could help it, but there were too many and even she wasn't fast enough to move before _any_ of them could return fire. Meryl was careful to inflict flesh wounds only, aiming for arms and legs—avoiding hands especially—just incapacitating her opponents.

Two men cried out in unison as Meryl's bullets tore through the flesh of their upper arms, making them drop their rifles. She dropped both empty derringers and drew again even as she dropped into a roll, avoiding another man's return fire from nearly point-blank range, sweeping his legs out from under him and driving an elbow hard into his throat when he landed, making him choke for breath.

Across the circle Meryl dropped another man with a bullet in his thigh and he fell against the man next to him, knocking them both to the ground. She kicked the second man's gun out of his hand before he could push his compatriot's bulk off his chest, and disarmed the rest of the sheriff's men in a matter of moments.

Meryl stood upright again in the center of the circle of fallen men, breathing hard but feeling of adrenaline-induced invincibility. She pushed a nearby man's dropped handgun out of his reach with her toe and he looked up at her in mixed frustration and disbelief.

"You bitch!"

Meryl's neck gave a painful jerk as she hurried to look back over her shoulder. The sheriff was up on his feet again, his eyes wild with fury as he aimed his pistol at her chest. In the same instant the man in red had the barrel of his revolver an ich from the sheriff's face. The other man immediately turned to face off with the man in red and Meryl took in a relieved breath as the gun was pointed away from her.

The two men stood facing one another, each with his gun pointing straight into the eyes of the other. With his ludicrously long arms, the man in red held his revolver nearly against the sheriff's nose while the other man's pistol would reach no further than six iches away from his opponent. It would have been funny, if the situation wasn't deathly serious.

"So how does it feel to be at the mercy of a toothless stray dog?" asked the man in red. Then he glanced sideways at Meryl and she watched the corner of his mouth twitch up for an instant, though his voice remained completely level as he gestured toward her and added, "Or toothless stray bitch?"

Meryl felt her eyebrows twitch in automatic irritation.

"_Dammit!_" hissed the sheriff.

Meryl saw clearly each instant of the next second as it passed, almost painfully slowly: watched the sheriff pull the trigger, heard the gunshot, saw the man in red recoil—the whole of his body jerked oddly and the hand holding the revolver dropped suddenly.

"_No!_"

This quiet exclamation felt drawn unwillingly from her lips and Meryl started forward automatically.

But it was the sheriff who fell, landing hard on his knees in the dirt. Meryl felt her mouth drop open slightly in stunned surprise, her mind working furiously to understand what had just happened. There was a bright red mark slowly forming on the sheriff's face, shaped curiously like the butt of a heavy revolver…

"Relax," the man in red told the sheriff, who was now staring up at him, dazed but clearly terrified. "I'm not going to kill you. But I _am_ giving this town back to its people." The man in red reached down and carefully pulled the sheriff's badge from where it was pinned to his lapel. Without looking up, he tossed the badge like a coin, high into the air, and Meryl watched it shimmer as the sun glinted off the rotating edges.

A few yarz away, McDonough caught the badge when it fell, looking startled. He glanced up to stare at the man in red, who turned to face him.

"This town needs you, McDonough," said the man in red. "Wouldn't you rather help make it all right again, instead of just punishing those who made it wrong in the first place?" He walked to where McDonough's revolver lay and picked it up, then pressed it into McDonough's hand and held it there, pointing the gun at the still-kneeling sheriff. "It's your choice." He released McDonough's hand and stepped back to stand at Meryl's side.

Meryl waited as McDonough just stood there, still holding his gun on the sheriff, for almost a whole minute. She watched the sheriff sweating, his earlier swagger and arrogance barely a memory as he stared, wide-eyed, up the barrel of McDonough's revolver. The sheriff had been responsible for the death of McDonough's family as much as Bostalk, and this man had no daughter to grieve him if he died. Meryl didn't know why she wasn't already intervening, jumping in to demand that McDonough let the law—the _real _law—deal with the man.

The sheriff still flinched as though shot when McDonough finally holstered the revolver. McDonough stared down at the badge in his hand for another long moment before he looked up again at the man in red, and nodded.

"If you still stand with him, get out," McDonough said, suddenly, and all the sheriff's men looked up at him, startled. "Leave this town now and the law won't follow you. But if your home is here, if your family is here…stay here and help me rebuild it."

Meryl watched all the men she'd disarmed or wounded glancing to one another, having what small exchanges they could without words. After a long minute, the man closest to McDonough stood up, wincing as he put weight on an injured leg. He carefully walked forward a few paces and bent down to collect his hat from where it fell during the gunfight. The man carefully brushed the dirt off the hat, put it back on his head—and tipped it to McDonough.

"Sheriff," said the man.

The others were all already retrieving their own hats, and there was a chorus of, "Sheriff," as every man there nodded to McDonough. Meryl could practically feel McDonough's swell of fierce pride and new hope as each man waited in line to shake his hand.

The man in red was silent at Meryl's shoulder and she looked up at him.

"Were you really that sure he wasn't going to kill him?" Meryl asked. "So sure that you would put that gun in his hand?"

The man in red glanced down to meet her gaze. For a moment he just watched her face in silence, and she saw a knowing look in his vibrantly green eyes that sent an odd shiver through her.

"Weren't you?" he asked her. Meryl didn't know what to say—_Honestly? Yes_—and after a moment the man in red seemed to read her answer anyway. He nodded, and then turned to make his way to where McDonough stood, surrounded by his new deputies. Meryl watched him go, and then looked to where Milly and the young woman were kneeling next to Bostalk. She could see a pool of blood under the man's body, but Milly was showing his daughter how to put pressure over the wound and Meryl knew they were both in good hands.

Now that it was over, Meryl really felt exhaustion for the first time. The adrenaline from the gunfight had long since depleted and she suddenly realized how long this day had actually been. In fact, it had started _yesterday_, spending the whole day on Thomas-back, then the night's journey skirting the sprawling graveyard on foot, then getting mixed up with the gunfight in the saloon and the duel in the street, and then this debacle with the sheriff. No wonder she could hardly stand without swaying.

Meryl glanced glumly around at her empty, discarded derringers, scattered across the ground. She'd only used a dozen or so but they were spread out along the whole street and she sighed. Bending down to pick up the first, Meryl's back gave a twinge of pain and she realized how much she wanted to just crawl into bed and sleep. Each time she stooped to retrieve a pistol it became more painful and finally, near the largest concentration of derringers, she just knelt instead, almost willing to suffer the indignity of shuffling around on her hands and knees just so she could collect the rest without any further backache.

As she tucked the last empty derringer away in its holster, a familiar bristly-haired shadow fell over her hands and Meryl sat back on her heels and looked up.

"What?" she asked, sounding a little more irritable than she intended, frowning and squinting up into the sun. But she knew the answer before he spoke, noticing the bandage and bottle of antiseptic he held as he stepped forward and shielded her eyes from the bright sunlight.

"For your arm," said the man in red.

"But Milly—" began Meryl, pointing toward her partner.

"Is still looking after Bostalk's shoulder," he finished. He nodded toward Meryl's arm. "It's just a graze, isn't it? Surely I can't screw that up."

And then he smiled at her.

Meryl almost fell over. It was modest and honest and lit up his face the way none of the Idiot's grins ever could. She realized her jaw had dropped slightly and she snapped it shut and nodded, and the man in red sat down next to her. Meryl shrugged off half her tunic to give better access to her injury.

As the man in red was opening the bottle of antiseptic Meryl decided there was no way in hell she would let him see her screaming like a little girl as she usually did at the sting of it. She gritted her teeth tightly and wouldn't meet his eye as he cleaned the wound. Instead she looked toward Milly, watching Bostalk and his daughter. The girl was holding her father's hand tightly as Milly tended to the man's shoulder.

"It must be hard for her, knowing now," said the man in red quietly, startling Meryl.

"What?" she said, realizing he'd put away the antiseptic and was carefully wrapping a clean bandage around her bicep.

"Her father's history," the man continued, his voice somber. "Could you imagine learning something like that about your parents?"

"I didn't know my parents," Meryl told him, though she had no idea why. The man in red seemed just as surprised by this confession.

"You were…" He left the sentence hanging, clearly not sure of the appropriate ending, waiting for her to explain. She just shook her head.

"No, not an orphan. Just…neglected," Meryl continued. "My parents didn't plan on having any children, so they didn't really know what to do with me." Childhood memories came floating to the surface of her thoughts and for some reason they kept pouring out of her mouth. "They already had the perfect life together; he worked all day and she took care of their home until they could be together in the evenings." Meryl swallowed hard but spoke again, still without understanding why. "They were devoted to each other, and there just wasn't really room in their home—or their hearts—for a third person. So I left."

The man in red said nothing and Meryl became self-conscious and looked down at her hands.

"I _never_ knew my parents," the man said suddenly, and Meryl glanced up, startled. Now it was he who looked away, seemingly very intent on his bandaging of her arm. "I don't even know what I—" he stopped abruptly. "I grew up alone. Well, with my brother," he conceded. "Mostly."

Meryl was surprised by this and didn't know what to say—or even if she should say anything at all. Before she could come up with some kind of reply the man spoke again, his voice dropping to near a whisper. "And there was a woman…but she died in the fall."

_The fall?_

The man in red looked up to meet her eyes again. For some time they just stared at each other and Meryl wasn't sure what was really happening or why either of them would offer up such intimate, personal information to the other. Then the man finished bandaging her arm and tied it off with a sharp yank.

"_Ow!_"

Meryl jerked her arm out of his hands, hissing against the sudden pain.

And the man in red was gone.

"Whoops!" said the Idiot, grinning somewhat sheepishly. He leapt to his feet and bowed low with a stern look on his face, saying, "A thousand apologies, madame!" Then he grinned again and skipped off toward where the young woman stood, watching two men carry her father off to the town's infirmary on a stretcher. She didn't follow.

When he reached her, the Idiot knelt at the woman's side and grasped her hand, kissing it. He looked up to her and though Meryl couldn't hear his words she saw the Idiot's lips moving as he spoke to her.

The woman slapped him hard across the face and walked away in a huff.

Meryl just sighed resignedly.

_Idiot._


	23. Episode 5, Hard Puncher, Part 1

Meryl slept for two days after the incident in Orleans. She woke to the loud _tap-tap-tap_ of Milly pounding out what Meryl assumed to be a company report on the keys of the heavy typewriter.

"About time, Ma'am!" said Milly cheerfully. "Good morning—well, afternoon, rather. Can I get you something to eat? You must be starving." Meryl's stomach grumbled in agreement and Milly laughed.

"It's alright, Milly," Meryl told the younger woman. "You finish up that report and I'll go down the street to the saloon. Meet me there after?" Milly nodded and Meryl dressed hurriedly, shoving her feet into her boots so quickly she stubbed the toes of her left foot against the insole. She was about to ask Milly for the wallet they shared but when Meryl turned around the younger woman was already holding a few double-dollar bills over her shoulder, continuing to type with the other hand as she waited patiently for Meryl to take the money.

Meryl fought back a grin and thanked Milly before practically racing out the door. Outside, the street showed evidence of further sandstorms while she slept; miniature dunes and drifts had built up against many buildings' faces. But now the weather was calm—and scalding hot. By the time she reached the saloon she was glad to step inside and just the few degrees' difference was enough to make her more comfortable.

The saloon seemed to have the same number of occupants as the last time she'd entered it, but somehow the place looked bigger, lacking all the tables that had been destroyed during the gunfight. Two men were already rebuilding the missing half of the bar.

Meryl managed to snag one of the only tables left standing, which she realized was actually just half of a table propped up against the wall, and waited to catch the eye of one of the men working the floor. It was the bartender himself who appeared at her elbow, and at her request returned minutes later with a cup of coffee and a small plate of beef and potatoes.

She practically inhaled the food, surreptitiously spitting out any gristle, and her growling stomach was finally sated to the point of silence. Then Meryl took the time to glance around the saloon as she sipped the last of her coffee. She recognized many faces from the day before, but couldn't find—

"He left yesterday," said Milly. Meryl sloshed coffee over the table in her surprise as the other woman sat down next to her, unexpectedly.

"What?" asked Meryl, trying to sop up the spill with her tattered cloth napkin. "Who?"

"Mr. Vash," Milly replied, with a look that clearly said, _You know perfectly well 'Who.'_

"Good riddance," muttered Meryl, without even bothering to correct Milly as to the man's identity. "Are you ready to leave?"

"We're all packed up," Milly confirmed, nodding. "Where next?"

"We hit the 4-month mark last week," Meryl told her, swallowing the last of her coffee. "We're due to check in with the company. Bernadelli has a remote branch in Little Kansas, and that's only a few days north of here."

"That's right, isn't it!" said Milly, looking surprised. "Four months already—hard to believe it's only been that …" She smiled pleasantly and Meryl glanced away, trying not to grimace.

It _definitely_ felt longer than four months.

Half an hour later they had loaded up their Thomas. Meryl wanted to find McDonough before they left town, and wish him luck for the future, but she couldn't seem to track him down. Puzzled, she went in to the saloon to ask after him and was surprised to see that he was one of the men rebuilding the bar; she hadn't noticed earlier, in her urgent rush to find strong coffee.

"I figure I owe the bartender," McDonough told her, when Meryl finally caught his attention (he was so focused on the task that Meryl's tap on the shoulder eventually turned into a fist hammering on his back). "Most of this is my mess, after all," explained McDonough.

"Oh," said Meryl, startled. She realized it was her mess, too, and suddenly wondered if she should be there alongside him with a hammer. McDonough seemed to read this on her face because he laughed.

"No, Meryl, this is _my_ doing," he said. "I dragged you into it." Then he grinned, and Meryl blinked somewhat dazedly; she thought he'd been good-looking before, but with a smile in place of the grimace she'd previously seen, the effect was startling. "I'll take care of your share of the repairs," McDonough assured her, focusing her attention properly again.

"Oh," she said again, for lack of anything else. "Well," she managed. "Good luck." Meryl offered McDonough her hand and he shook it, his large hand enveloping hers.

"And you," he replied, smiling again.

A sudden shout and cursing drew McDonough's attention away and Meryl saw that the other man, one of McDonough's new deputies, had missed the head of the nail on his last hammer swing and was sucking on an injured thumb.

"Oh for God's sake, Armstrong," McDonough muttered. "That's twice today."

Meryl left the two men to their work and returned outside where Milly sat waiting on Thomas-back. With both hands on the saddle horn, Meryl hauled herself up onto her own mount, settling in for another three-day ride with no opportunity to bathe or eat properly until they reached their destination. She sighed resignedly and kicked the Thomas into a trot.

They rode in silence for a few minutes until they met the edge of town.

_The Humanoid Typhoon_

Adrenaline shot suddenly through Meryl's veins.

"Did you hear that?" Meryl asked. She pulled back on the Thomas reins and brought it to a halt, breathless. Meryl was certain she'd heard the words; carried on the wind, maybe…whispered into her ear from far away.

"Hear what, Ma'am?" asked Milly. She had stopped and was looking back, bemused.

_Inepril_

Meryl was turning her head from side to side now, looking around the street for the source.

"I swear, I heard…" She was frowning, her forehead aching as she tried to understand...

_Stampede_

A sudden crackling, static noise—and Meryl figured it out.

"It's the radio!" she hissed, "back at the saloon!" Meryl threw herself off the Thomas and raced back to the saloon, throwing herself through what once was a door. "Stop!" she shouted, to the room at large. "Go back!"

The bartender was looking up at her, startled, his thick fingers still grasping the knob on the radio, searching for a different frequency.

"What?" he spluttered. "Me?"

"Yes, hurry," Meryl demanded, pushing her way through the crowd, only barely squeezing between two more of McDonough's deputies at the bar. "What were they saying—about the Humanoid Typhoon?"

The bartender tuned the radio back and Meryl recognized the raspy voice she'd heard from a distance.

"—_repeat, keep getting reports from Inepril that Vash the Stampede is in the area. He is considered armed and dangerous, and should not be approached for any reason. Again, the Humanoid Typhoon is thought to be in or near the Inepril—_"

It was enough. She just _knew_ it. Without understanding how; really, gut-feeling sure, _knew _it. Meryl ran out without even thanking the bartender and squinted into the sun, blinded for an instant, enough for her to collide with Milly's Thomas. Remarkably, it seized her elbow in its toothed beak and held her upright enough to keep from falling, though she saw when she managed to pull her arm free that it had nearly bit clean through the sleeve of her tunic.

"What is it?" asked Milly, clearly alarmed. "What's wrong, Ma'am?"

"Inepril," said Meryl, breathlessly, as she pulled herself into her own Thomas saddle. "We have to go to Inepril."

"What?" Milly asked, confused. "What about Little Kansas? The company—"

"I just heard, they say the Humanoid Typhoon is in Inepril," Meryl went on, anxious to leave. She gripped the leather reins tightly.

"But we always hear rumors, Ma'am," Milly said, perplexed. "How do you know—"

"Something's different this time," Meryl said, trying hard to pinpoint what it was that made her guts suddenly twist up with anticipation. The effort made her forehead ache, but rather than annoy her it seemed to just strengthen her resolve. "This time we'll find him, Milly. I just _know_ it."

"But Ma'am," protested Milly, "Inepril's south of here…we're supposed to be…" Her ingrained sense of obligation toward company regulations seemed to be at odds with her friendship and allegiance to Meryl. In the end, her faith in Meryl seemed to win out and Milly turned her mount decisively to the south. "Then let's go, Ma'am," she said. "No time to waste."

It was a relatively short ride, less than a full day pushing the Thomas hard, and they reached the outskirts of Inepril in mid-morning the next day. They stood at the edge of the cliff overlooking the city and stared down in disbelief.

"Half the city's covered in sand," said Milly, bewildered.

"Their plant must have broken down," Meryl reasoned. "But the damage is so extensive…did you ever hear anything about this?"

"No," Milly said, shaking her head. "Inepril hasn't been in the news for years."

"How can no one have done anything about the plant?" asked Meryl, her forehead aching as she tried to make sense of it.

"Maintenance is expensive," Milly offered, though she looked upset at the idea of such a reason for neglect.

"But this town is _dependent_ on that plant," Meryl replied. "It looks like it's been broken for at least a year, maybe more. Why doesn't—"

Meryl cut off abruptly at the distant clanging of a heavy bell. She surveyed the cityscape and gasped as she watched the tall bell tower suddenly crumble to the ground with a huge plume of dust.

"Ma'am, did you _see_ that?" Milly asked, aghast.

"He's here," Meryl murmured, shivering slightly despite the high noon heat. Somehow she knew, with that same peculiar, irrefutable certainty she had felt earlier, that _this_ time they had found the _real_ Vash the Stampede. "This is it, Milly," she said, her heart hammering away madly against her ribs. "It's _him._"

Meryl hauled hard on the Thomas reins and kicked the animal into a gallop, hurrying to find the switchback trail that would lead them down the cliff. Milly followed, and a few breathless minutes later they had reached the main streets.

Another explosion, much nearer now, made Meryl wince. She slid down the considerable distance from her saddle to the ground, landing solidly on both feet, and threw the Thomas reins over the nearest post. Milly followed as she raced toward the center of the city.

Turning around the corner and into the heart of the commotion, Meryl and Milly were met with a scene of utter chaos. Within moments, they were buffeted to and fro as gangs of people ran in all directions, taking no notice of them whatsoever. Men and women carried revolvers and pistols and rifles and anything else they could get their hands on, all shooting—as far as Meryl could tell—at no more than a shadow, or just towards the sounds of more shooting.

"Somebody's going to get killed!" Milly said, terrified. "They're all just going to get caught in their own crossfire!" Even as Milly said it, Meryl realized they were standing in front of a veritable firing squad, a half-dozen men turning to face them as another explosion sounded loudly from behind where the two of them stood.

There wasn't even time to shout a warning. Meryl pushed Milly sideways, toward the building nearest them, hoping to flatten them both against the wall for what little cover it could provide. Much to her surprise—and Milly's, if her squawk of alarm was any indication—they crashed through an aging wooden door, sending splinters flying around the room behind it. Meryl collapsed on Milly, and if she didn't have the bulk to _squash_ the other woman, it was enough at least to knock the wind out of her.

"Sorry!" Meryl said apologetically, shouting to be heard over the thunder of gunshots outside as she scrambled to her feet. Glancing around, Meryl found herself in what looked like a single-bedroom flat, the only occupant of which was an old woman, gray hair pulled back in a severe bun, sitting in a rocking chair at the very center of the room.

"Everyone is so animated today," commented the old woman, with a hint of a smile. Ice-gray cataracts blinked blindly at Meryl and a frail, wrinkled hand absently stroked a very familiar-looking cat sitting in her lap. The green-eyed, black feline rolled onto its back, purring so loudly it actually managed to drown out some of the commotion outside.

"What happened here?" Meryl asked, cringing as the floor shook again. "Shouldn't you move somewhere out of the way?"

"Oh, I'm alright," the woman assured them, tickling the cat's belly affectionately. Kureneko's eyes narrowed to contented slits.

"_Nyao…_"

"This all started yesterday, " said the old woman, continuing their strange, disjointed conversation in the midst of all the chaos outside. "Some story about a gang running away from their own hold-up in their underwear, I think."

"In their—_what?_" spluttered Meryl.

There was a high-pitched shriek just moments before the glass of the room's front window burst inward toward the three women. Meryl and Milly threw themselves to the ground as something flew into the room, passing right over their heads. It all happened in an instant; something exploded through the front window and smashed out through the back again in just a flash—of what Meryl could have sworn was a streak of brilliant red.

Leaping to her feet, Meryl stared out through what remained of the back window, something unsettling churning in the back of her mind, but she didn't have time to stop and think about it properly.

"Come on," she urged Milly, sparing a worried but resigned backwards glance at the older woman as she cautiously peeked out the door into the street.

Meryl's heart jumped up into her throat as she heard the words, "_There he is!_" She turned, but only for a fraction of a second, not enough to see the man in question, because a hurried double-take showed a younger man, about Milly's age, raising a massive rocket launcher to his shoulder just a few yarz away. She leapt toward him and knocked the weapon sideways, though the young man still held tightly to it, shouting in surprise.

"My god, where are you _getting_ these things?" Meryl demanded, trying to wrestle the rocket launcher away from him. The struggle only ended when Milly finally grabbed them both by the scruff of the neck and hauled them apart, each glaring at the other and panting hard from the exertion.

"_Enough!_"

The word boomed loud around them, startling Milly into dropping her two captives. The voice echoed off the stone walls of the buildings and Meryl realized it had come from a public address system—she could see the large horned speakers at almost every corner.

"_Message from Mission Control: temporarily suspend all pursuit of the Humanoid Typhoon! Everybody return to headquarters to discuss further strategies._"

Meryl still refused to relinquish her hold on the rocket launcher and the young man made a face at her, making a show of forcibly dropping his end of the weapon and stalking away. Breathing a sigh of relief, Meryl realized she had no place to put the stupid thing, nor really any idea what to do with it at all. And it seemed to be getting heavier by the moment.

"Um…" she said, glancing uncertainly at her partner, but Milly just pulled the rocket launcher from Meryl's grip and slung it over one shoulder.

"Let's find out where headquarters is," said Milly.

"Right," Meryl said, glad yet again of Milly's ability to keep a level head in a crisis. "Right."

The resounding silence following the city-wide cease-fire was almost tangible as the two women followed the steadily increasing stream of people headed for what seemed to be the center of town. After several minutes it seemed the entire population was gathered, crowded, into the town square. In the very center, a large tent canopy had been constructed (somewhat haphazardly) and Meryl made a bee-line for it. From a distance she could see two men arguing, and moments later she could hear their voices.

"Maybe we should just stop now," said a tall man, trying to push his horn-rimmed glasses further up his nose, though they slid back down almost immediately on his sweaty skin.

"We can't!" said the other man, desperately. He sat in a folding chair, staring at nothing in particular as he tugged at his wiry long hair in an anxious gesture. "We need that bounty!"

"Yes, but Mr. Chairman—"

"He's right!" interrupted Meryl, stepping under the tent canopy's welcome shade. She nodded at the man in glasses. "This has _got_ to stop!"

"Who are you?" demanded the Chairman.

"My name is Meryl Stryfe, and this is my partner—"

"Milly Thompson!"

"We're from the Bernadelli Insurance Company, and we're here to stop Vash the Stampede from causing any damage to people or property," Meryl was nearly tripping over the litany in her hurry to make herself heard. "_Which your willful destruction of your own town makes very difficult to do!_"

"But we have to catch him!" the Chairman shouted, jumping to his feet. "We need the $$60,000,000,000 bounty to fix the plant! Without the plant, the town will be in ruins!"

"The town is already in ruins!" Meryl shouted back. "Look what you've done!"

The Chairman hesitated in answering, his eyes darting around as he took in all the damage they had wrought to their town. Finally he let out a defeated groan and sank back into the plastic folding chair.

"It's not too late," Meryl said, lowering her voice again, trying to sound reassuring. "Let me talk to him—to Vash." She felt a sudden stab of—panic? Excitement? "Lend me use of the PA system, I'll try to negotiate a truce."

"No, no," moaned the Chairman. "You don't understand… It's no use, it's already too late!"

"It isn't!" Meryl said, grabbing the man by the shoulders. "Just stop the—"

The ground under their feet shook suddenly; one brief tremor and an accompanying clap of thunder, as if an explosion had gone off nearby. But Meryl was familiar with explosions, and this was decidedly not.

"What was that?"

Milly had voiced everyone's unasked question.

"It's_ them,_" whispered the Chairman, going pale and tugging more furiously at his hair.

"What?" asked Meryl, confused. "Who?"

"I…I hired…"

There was another huge, booming noise and impact and the Chairman cringed noticeably.

"Mr. Chairman?" prompted the man in glasses.

"…_Nebraskas…_" mumbled the Chairman, in a barely-audible whisper, not meeting Meryl's eye.

"You. Did. _What?_" hissed Meryl, through painfully gritted teeth.


	24. Episode 5, Hard Puncher, Part 2

The ground shook again and there was a tremendous bellowing cry following the clap of thunder—of giant footfalls, Meryl realized now. She cringed as though the jarring shudder under her feet had actually caused her pain. She thought she could feel her eye starting to twitch again.

"The—the _Nebraskas?_" Meryl demanded, once she was able to think anything other than, _Oh, shit_. "They're supposed to be in jail!"

"They broke out," explained the Chairman, helplessly. "I figured, we're so desperate for that money, we might as well… We could pay them pittance and let their love of destruction do the rest for Vash the Stampede."

"And that love of destruction will _destroy your town!_" Meryl snarled, so furious at the man and terrified at the situation that her voice had jumped into a full register higher than her normal pitch. "I have seen what they can do—do you know how hard it was to get them in prison in the first place?" Milly went suddenly white. "_We helped put them there!_" Meryl shrieked.

This was true. Two years ago, Bernadelli went after the Nebraskas; the scientist who had constructed his own family of mechanical giants had been ransacking most of the planet and the insurance company dispatched the whole of its resources and all the field agents available to bring the criminals to justice. It was the first time Meryl had worked with Milly—the younger woman had dragged Meryl free of some debris just before one of the giants could crush her underfoot.

Four of Bernadelli's other agents were not as lucky. Hundreds of injuries were added to the four deaths before the whole of the family could be rounded up. A new penitentiary had been built specifically for them, to accommodate the size of the prisoners, out in the middle of the great wastelands, thousands of iles from the nearest township.

Meryl's blood ran cold now as she wondered how many people had died in the Nebraskas' escape.

"And now you've brought them here," Milly whispered, faintly. Meryl glanced sideways, worried to see her partner so pale.

"You idiot!" hissed the Chairman's second-in-command, the man in glasses. He slammed both fists down on the table at the center of the tent, making the Chairman nearly fall out of his seat. "What have you done?"

"I didn't know," whispered the Chairman, his fingers twitching in nervous spasms as he yanked hard on his scraggly long hair. "Bryan, I didn't know what else to do…"

"You've brought disaster down on us!" shouted Bryan. He grabbed the Chairman by the collar and dragged him to his feet, hauling back one heavy fist to strike the smaller man.

"No!" Meryl said, hurriedly, seizing his elbow. "This won't help anything!" Bryan gave her a look that clearly said the punch would at least make _him_ feel better—and privately Meryl agreed—but he released the Chairman, who collapsed to the ground.

There was another loud bellow and a few more thunderous footfalls, nearer now, and Meryl could hear all the townsfolk in the square start to speak more worriedly to one another, voices growing louder. People started pressing in toward the tent nervously.

"What, then?" asked Bryan, looking severely at Meryl through his horn-rimmed glasses. "You've dealt with them. What should we do?" Meryl glanced down, gave the Chairman up as a bad job, and addressed the other man.

"You're in charge now. Get everyone away from here as quickly as possible," Meryl ordered. "Tell them to leave everything behind, take nothing but their lives. Pack them onto sand-shuttles, Thomas, anything you've got, and just get them—"

"_Vaaaaash!_"

The high-pitched voice was thin and reedy, barely cutting through the noise of the crowd, and very different from the previous bellowing cries. Meryl froze, recognizing the voice as that of the scientist, of Dr. Nebraska, the man who called himself father of his engineered family.

"That's coming from east of here," Meryl whispered, not quite sure why she was suddenly keeping her voice down. "Take everyone west, and hurry!" Bryan hesitated, looking uncertainly at her and Milly.

"What are you going to do?" he asked, his words also nearly a whisper.

Meryl licked suddenly dry lips.

"I don't know," she said, honestly. "I…" Meryl looked hopelessly at the man but was saved saying anything else as someone squealed loudly outside the tent, somewhere in the crowd.

"We've got him!"

Turning, Meryl watched a dark-haired girl in braided pigtails elbow her way through the mass of people, slamming her shoulders determinedly into the adults' knees as she passed, forcing them out of her way. She was red-faced and breathless and one of her braids was unraveling where the matching pink ribbon had come loose.

"Sandy?" said the Chairman in bewilderment, still sitting bemusedly on the ground. The girl spared him an exasperated glance before looking up to Bryan.

"We caught him!" she said again, gasping for breath and gripping the worn shoulder straps of an orange backpack. "We've got Vash the Stampede! At the saloon!"

"What?" said Meryl, flabbergasted.

"Mama says you have to hurry, c'mon!" The girl spun on her heel and ran without another backwards glance. For a moment Meryl and Bryan stood staring at each other, dumbfounded, as Sandy disappeared into the crowd again, the orange bag bouncing on her back with each step.

"Make a hole!" Meryl shouted, starting to plow her way through the crowd after the girl. Most of the townsfolk were just startled by Meryl's order and didn't do much to move out of her way.

"You heard her! _Move!_"

From just behind Meryl, Bryan's angry bellow commanded a little more authority and people hurriedly cleared out of their way. The crowd parted as she ran and it was only about five seconds before Meryl could see Sandy's braided pigtails flying every which way as she pushed her way through the throng a few yarz ahead.

As Meryl reached the outskirts of the crowd and emerged into the empty street, a ragged-looking stuffed rabbit fell from Sandy's backpack and Meryl's next stride lengthened awkwardly in an automatic attempt to avoid stepping on it. Milly disappeared briefly from Meryl's peripheral vision and Meryl knew the younger woman had stooped to retrieve the stuffed animal. Meryl felt a moment's twinge of irritation—_why bother?_—but Milly was at Meryl's side again just a moment later.

The ground under Meryl's feet rumbled and shook and there was a collective gasp of surprise and shouts of alarm from the crowd she had left behind in the square. A plume of dust and smoke was rising high enough against the brilliantly blue sky for Meryl to see it over the roofs of the low buildings lining the street.

"What the hell—?" began Bryan, between panting breaths. He followed close on Meryl's heels as she hastily changed course to dart down the nearest side-street that would take her more directly toward the explosion. Her lungs were burning as she sprinted, her heart pounding away so rapidly it actually _hurt._ She hardly dared to draw breath as her mind reeled in a veritable roulette of emotion: anxiety, excitement, terror, delight, panic…

_It's Vash—they found Vash—_

But would he still be alive when _she_ found him?

Meryl rounded the corner at the end of a narrow street and found herself at the edge of another open town square bordered by shops. She skidded to a halt in the dirt, shocked at what stood waiting there, and Milly nearly bowled her over from behind.

"Oh my god," Meryl whispered, feeling her eyes stretch wide to fully take in the sight of the giant mechanical man crouched down on one knee at the side of the square. His huge, domed forehead protruded oddly over disproportionately-small eyes hidden behind purple-tinted goggles. A smokestack stuck out the back of his bald head and Meryl jumped a little as a cloud of steam burst from it with the great reverberating sound of a foghorn.

A triumphant cry of, "_Ha!_" came, not from the giant, but from a smaller man riding in a compartment attached to a harness strapped across the giant's chest. Even from a distance, Meryl recognized the man as Dr. Nebraska. He seemed to be doing a sort of victory-jig that made the puffs of white hair at the sides of his head quiver ridiculously. "Sunk after one shot?" shouted the scientist, apparently speaking to the rubble that Meryl guessed was previously the town saloon.

With a loud, mechanical whirring noise, the huge winch strapped to the giant's back sprang into life and Meryl finally noticed that the giant was missing half his right arm. A thick cord was attached to the metal stump at his elbow and as the winch retracted it dragged a massive forearm and fist from the debris, pulling the arm back to the giant until it slammed into place again at his elbow. Meryl realized the detachable fist had been used as a projectile weapon powerful enough to destroy the whole building.

"_Mama!_"

The shrill cry came from somewhere behind Meryl and she turned around to look for the source. Sandy had caught up to the three adults (they'd taken a shortcut, it seemed) and was staring in horror at the ruins of the saloon. She screamed, "_Mama!_" again and started sprinting across the open space.

Meryl leapt forward and seized Sandy around the waist before she could get more than a few yarz' distance, pulling the girl almost off her feet to stop her running right in front of the giant and into his line of fire. At the sudden movement below, the mechanical giant turned quickly to face them. Nebraska, standing high in the sling across his son's chest, frowned down at woman and girl. Meryl shoved Sandy behind her and the girl screamed to see the huge fist pointing directly at them. She clutched at Meryl from behind and Meryl threw her hands up high in the air, palms-out.

"_Unarmed!_" she shouted, as loudly as she could. Meryl was thankful that Sandy's terrified death-grip on her waist kept the derringer-laden cloak from opening and revealing the falseness of this claim.

Both Nebraska and his giant-son gave dismissive _hmph!_ noises in unison and turned back to face what was left of the saloon. Meryl let out a breath she hadn't noticed holding, but the sigh of relief was premature. Nebraska did an abrupt double-take and stared down at her again and, after a moment, Meryl saw recognition in the scientist's expression. She felt suddenly as if the temperature in the street had dropped far below freezing.

"I know you, girl," Nebraska said slowly, his eyes narrowing. The scientist stared unnervingly down at Meryl from his high perch, all three of his yellowing teeth bared in a snaggletoothed grin. "Remember this?" he asked, pulling off the green monocle he wore over his left eye and tapping an ugly, jagged scar that ran across his temple and bisected the severe arch of his thinning, white-haired eyebrow. "_I_ remember," said Nebraska, his jovial tone gone icy cold.

Meryl remembered too. The bullet had only just missed him, during that incident two years ago. Unwilling to shoot to kill, Meryl had hesitated too long and Nebraska had escaped the encounter with just a graze over his left eye. She had no idea that he'd even seen her in all the chaos of that day, much less that he would remember her years later. The thought was unsettling.

"I never thought I'd have the opportunity to pay you back!" cackled Nebraska, and he pulled an absurdly long-barreled pistol from somewhere else in the harness. He held it out in both hands and squinted his monocled eye to aim the gun down at Meryl.

Before Meryl could do so much as gasp, there was a loud scraping noise from across the square and something stirred in the rubble of the saloon. She and Nebraska both reflexively turned to look and Milly took advantage of the distraction and grabbed Meryl's elbow, dragging her and Sandy back into the anonymity of the crowd; the townspeople had followed the sounds of and gathered again at the edge of the square to watch as events unfolded.

Meryl hardly noticed Milly's actions and certainly didn't hear the other woman's concerned query as to Meryl's well-being. The fear that had momentarily gripped her when she stood staring up the barrel of Nebraska's gun was all but forgotten as Meryl stared across the square at the wreckage of the saloon. A large slab of the building's stone wall shifted and fell, kicking up more dust, and Meryl watched a vague silhouette form in the cloud, growing more definite as the dirt settled again.

She had stopped breathing entirely now, waiting, hearing only the blood pounding in her ears. The figure slowly took shape and Meryl's heart sunk like a stone as a painfully familiar outline appeared.

"No," she whispered, all her breath rushing out in that single syllable, emptying her lungs until she felt they were an empty void, somehow solid and dense in her chest, weighing her down. "It can't be," she murmured, her lips moving almost soundlessly, "not here, not now. Not _him_…"

But there was no mistaking that bristly blond hair, nor the long jacket that now rustled in the slight breeze that swept away the last of the obscuring dust.

The man in red stood knee-deep in debris, holding the limp form of a woman under one arm.

Meryl just stared at him in disbelief. She wanted to scream, to jump up and down and shout, _What are you doing here?!_ What about _Vash?_ Where was the man Meryl had been pursuing for months, where was the legendary Humanoid Typhoon?

The man in red carried the woman several yarz from the remains of the saloon and lay her down carefully on the ground. Vaguely, through the deafening noise of her own screaming thoughts, Meryl could hear Nebraska taunting the man in red from across the square. The man just returned to the rubble and wordlessly began shifting through the mess. A moment later the man in red stood again, cradling a second woman in his arms. Again he carried her away and lay her next to the first woman before returning once more to the saloon's ruins.

Meryl watched, numbly, as the man in red retrieved another three women from the debris. She was trying desperately to reconcile her anxiety for the situation with the bitter, aching disappointment she felt in knowing this was just another false report, another failure to find what she'd been chasing for so long.

_This can't be happening…_

A noise like booming cannon fire knocked Meryl loose from her reverie and she watched the giant's massive fist fly in a blur toward the man in red and the last slender woman he'd just pulled from the rubble. Glancing up sharply, the man in red finally faced his attacker and Meryl saw his green eyes flash suddenly the color of cold steel.


	25. Episode 5, Hard Puncher, Part 3

It was over before anyone could react. By the time whole town had cried out in dismay, the wreckage of the saloon was reduced even further to dust by the giant's flying punch. Meryl could hear Nebraska cackling hysterically, practically hooting in glee. Somewhere behind her, Sandy was sobbing and Milly was whispering quietly in an attempt to calm the girl.

Meryl just stood as still and cold as marble, staring blankly into the debris. She couldn't accept it; he just _couldn't_ be dead, not really—_not here. Not now_. How many times had she seen the Idiot disappear into that man who could face insurmountable odds without hesitation? How many times had she watched the man in red walk away, unscathed, from a dangerous situation? And when had she started _expecting_ the impossible from him?

High above, Nebraska's laughter cut short and Meryl glanced up to see a look of shock on the scientist's face. The celebratory cigar he had lit fell from his slack jaw as he goggled, open-mouthed, at the wreckage across the square. Meryl looked too.

And there he was.

A breathless sort of laugh burbled up inside Meryl in her almost shocked relief to see the man in red still there, seemingly untouched in the aftermath of the second attack.

"Feh!" spat Nebraska, shouting at the man in red. "I suppose I _had _hoped you might live, so my son could beat you again—ha!—but I see you ditched the woman to save your own skin!" Meryl felt a shock at the words; the woman _was_ gone. The man's long arms were empty, wrapped around his own torso to protect himself. "You as good as killed her, Vash the Stampede! Just as I'd expect from the Humanoid Typhoon!"

"No!" shouted Milly. She had stepped up beside Meryl, still holding a sobbing Sandy in her arms, and her eyes were fierce as she glared up at Nebraska. "Mr. Vash would never—" But her retort was drowned in gasps from the rest of the crowd.

Across the square, the man in red let his arms unfold from over his chest and the long jacket fell open. Meryl was amazed to see the woman there, sheltered by the heavy red fabric, and the man caught her as she fell, cradling her limp form in his arms again.

"Oh, Ma'am," Milly murmured at her shoulder, sounding as awed as Meryl felt.

"That's impossible," whispered Meryl. Even as she said it, images flashed through her mind: the man in red evading a giant bladed boomerang, escaping Ruth Loose's deadly explosives, emerging from the crushing flow of water through Schezar's pipes, surviving hailstorms of gunfire, _twice_ managing to dodge a bullet from only iches away… All of them impossible feats. No normal man could have lived as this man had, it was inconceivable. For one incredible moment Meryl almost believed this man really _could_ be Vash the Stampede. "That's…_impossible._"

Nebraska spoke to the man in red again, dispelling these thoughts. "Alright, so you wouldn't leave her to die," he allowed, "but I know at some point you had to have killed those who got in your way."

For all Meryl could tell, the man in red hadn't even heard the scientist's goading. He just picked his way carefully over the ruins of the saloon and carried the woman to her comrades, laying her gently alongside the others several yarz from the destruction.

"How do I know?" prompted Nebraska. When he continued, his words were so quiet as to be barely audible: "Because you haven't yet had your turn to be killed."

Meryl felt the chill of Nebraska's words and knew there was always truth to that claim; a gunfighter only survived as long as he—or she—was the fastest draw, the best shot. Then again… Meryl realized she had never seen the man in red fire a single shot. No matter the situation, no matter how many opponents. In all the time she'd known him, the man had drawn his revolver only once, and even then he had refused to shoot, despite the gang of heavily armed men surrounding him.

_Impossible…_

"The $$60 billion reward on your head is proof!" Nebraska continued, practically screaming now. He leaned so far out of his giant-son's harness compartment to taunt the man in red that he seemed to be teetering dangerously over the edge. "What do you say to that, eh? _Vash the Stampede!_"

In her paralyzing haze of disbelief, Meryl felt her heart give a strange hiccup in its beat to hear the name; she expected her mouth to fall open and to shout her usual, by now involuntary, "_He's not Vash!_"

But it never came.

"Why won't he say anything?" someone whispered from the crowd, as the man in red remained silent. "Why is he taking that kind of abuse?"

Returning to stand before what little was left of the saloon, the man in red reached into his jacket and produced the zig-zag frame glasses Meryl had seen him wear so many times in the past. He turned his face to the ground as he donned them, and when he looked up again the suns glinted briefly on the yellow lenses—and then Meryl saw those unmistakable, razor-sharp _other_ eyes again.

She could _feel_ the change in him, even from this distance, and the raw power suddenly radiating from him seemed to force all the air out of her lungs. Her knees nearly gave out and she clutched at Milly's sleeve just to keep from falling over.

The naturally-dominant rational side to Meryl's thinking rebelled violently at the thought of accepting the fact that _this_ man, this walking disaster in and out of her life for months, could actually be the Humanoid Typhoon. But something else somewhere inside her kept pushing her closer and closer to that conclusion; the inexplicable certainty she had felt before, in Orleans and here on the outskirts of town, that she had _finally_ found Vash—the _real _Vash—was so strong now that rational thought was struggling to keep its hold on her.

Meryl's head ached, trying desperately to reconcile the two warring beliefs. She was hardly aware of her surroundings anymore and was taken completely by surprise at the thunderous explosion of Nebraska's giant-son launching his fist again. The man in red shouted in alarm and Meryl realized that the giant's great fist was hurtling, not at the man in red, but towards the injured women he had tried to protect.

The man in red threw himself sideways and took three long strides before diving directly into the fist's path, disappearing behind it. Over the screams around her and the screeching sound of the massive winch, Meryl could hear five rapid shots—_was it five?_ She couldn't be sure—and suddenly the fist was spinning out of control. It smashed through the front of the building just to the right of its target, missing the man in red and the women behind him by mere yarz.

Meryl finally just collapsed, falling hard on her knees there at the edge of the square. "That's…_not_…" she choked out in a broken whisper. Her throat seemed to be tightening in that way that meant tears were coming, but she couldn't understand _why._

There was a heavy, stunned silence hanging in the air, until finally someone exclaimed, "He changed its course!"

"He veered off my son's fist with just six bullets?" Nebraska shrieked, his high-pitched voice a mix of fury and disbelief.

"Not quite," replied the man in red, finally speaking for the first time. Meryl recognized the low, dangerous voice that complemented the sharp edge of his eyes and her spine actually tingled at the sound of it. The man in red opened the cylinder of his revolver, ejecting five empty shell casings which glittered in the bright sunlight as they fell at his feet. "I have one left," the man continued. "It's a special one." He spun the cylinder with a flick of his gloved thumb and the faint _whirrrr_ echoed through the stillness of the square.

In one fluid movement, the man in red brought the revolver up and snapped the cylinder into place, firing his last bullet an instant later. The giant gave a great rumbling howl that shook the ground and he gripped his arm at the metal stump of his elbow. The bullet had hit its mark exactly, tearing through the mechanical inner workings of the giant's arm.

For a moment the giant staggered unsteadily on his feet, letting out low bellows of agony, and the crowd scattered in a desperate attempt to avoid being flattened, whichever way he fell. Finally the giant collapsed backward, landing hard enough on the packed dirt of the street to crush the great metal winch attached to his back. Nebraska was screaming from somewhere high on his son's chest, but it was drowned out by the cheers of delight and triumph from the townsfolk as the giant fell.

Meryl knew she should be running in the opposite direction, should be making sure the threat posed by Nebraska and his son _was_ actually neutralized, but she didn't care. She was already on her feet and racing across the square, and both Sandy and Milly were only a few steps behind her. A matter of moments later they had all three reached the scene: Sandy leapt into her mother's arms and Milly knelt beside the most seriously injured woman, but Meryl ran forward to seize the man in red by the collar and dragged his face down just iches from her own.

"Are you truly Vash the Stampede?" Meryl demanded, shaking him as roughly as she could manage. Her own hands felt shaky and weak even though she gripped his jacket so tightly her knuckles went white. "_Are you?_"

He looked entirely shocked to see her, his mouth slightly open and eyes wide in surprise.

"Am—what?" he spluttered, bewildered, suddenly much more the Idiot than the man in red.

"_Tell me!_" said Meryl, desperately. She realized she was on the verge of unexpected tears again and blinked them away angrily; she _needed_ to know, needed to hear it from _him—_needed to hear it from _Vash._

What happened next happened very, very quickly.

His baffled expression vanished in the time it took her to blink once. Someone behind her screamed and the man in red moved impossibly fast, so fast it didn't register until Meryl found herself flat on her back on the ground, gasping for breath. A gun had sounded loudly in her ears.

Now he was kneeling next to her and he held one of her derringers, _still in its holster in her cloak_. He must have reached down into her cloak, found the pistol, aimed, and fired, all in an instant. And knocked her off her feet to do it—he had pushed her down and out of the way with his free left hand, which was still pressing her shoulder into the ground.

Meryl coughed, trying to catch her breath, and the man in red glanced down at her. For a moment he still wore that fierce expression that seemed to embody him as _the man in red_ facing an opponent, but his gaze softened considerably when he caught her eye. Before Meryl could say anything, he put a hand under her arm and helped lever her to her feet again.

He had dropped the derringer (and, by proxy, the end of her cloak) and as it fell back into place Meryl caught a quick glimpse of the bullet hole now burned through the white fabric; it barely registered in the midst of everything else happening around her. She looked automatically in the direction the man in red had fired.

Across the square, Nebraska had managed to crawl free of the giant's bulk, hauling that long-barreled pistol with him. But the gun was on the ground at his feet now and Nebraska was backing hastily away, swearing loudly.

"He did it again!" one of the townsfolk whooped. "Vash knocked it right out of his hands!"

Meryl turned to face the man in red again, half in shock. His eyes were clear and brilliantly green and staring back at her with an unreadable expression that inexplicably gave her goosebumps. She was quite literally speechless, unable to come up with a single word, not even simply a _thank you_, and continued to just stare at him in silence.

_How many times must you see the impossible before you believe?_

"_Are_ you…?" she whispered, finally.

The man in red winced and gave her a painfully guilty little half-smile.

"Um," he murmured, almost choking on the word.

Meryl was so close she could _hear_ him swallow nervously. He seemed to be cringing away from her already, apparently preparing for the blow he thought would come at this next word:

"Yeah."

For a moment there was silence. Then Meryl spoke, softly, "Oh."

The man in red—_Vash_—seemed to relax when she didn't lash out at him immediately.

_Oh…_

She realized she believed it, and Meryl's knees buckled under the weight of this discovery. Vash moved quickly to catch her, looking somewhat alarmed. She steadied herself on his arms—on the arms of _Vash the Stampede_—and tried to think of something to say. Her mouth just worked silently for a few moments, half-open and breathless, and Vash looked down at her as if he were actually waiting anxiously for her reaction.

There were sounds of a scuffle in the distance and their strange moment was broken, both turning to find the source of the commotion—though neither of them released hold of the other, Meryl noticed.

Two young men had (finally) rushed out of the crowd and tackled Nebraska to the ground. He let out a squawk as the burly youths practically squashed him flat and Meryl saw the green monocle pop off and roll away.

"Don't think for a second that you've won, Vash the Stampede!" Nebraska shouted, fighting feebly against his captors as the men hauled him up to his feet. "Mark my words, I'll be back for both of you!" Meryl realized with a little shock that Nebraska was referring to her now, too. "When you least expect it, Vash!" the scientist vowed, "I'll be coming for you, _and_ for your woman!"

Vash actually stumbled and fell over backwards from the force with which Meryl reflexively shoved him, bodily, away from her.

"His _what?!?_" she shrieked.


	26. Episode 5, Hard Puncher, Part 4

Vash blinked bemusedly up at Meryl from the ground, clearly still a little confused as to what had just happened. Before she could apologize or offer Vash a hand back up, a large chunk of the crowd had broken off and come running to surround him. Within moments, two men had lifted Vash up onto their shoulders and everyone was shouting loudly, each trying to be heard first as they congratulated and thanked him.

His first expression of bewilderment as the crowd carried him off was priceless; Vash glanced once at Meryl with what she thought might have been a terrified sort of _help-me_ look, but then he was all grins and even cheering along for himself as well.

Meryl didn't begrudge Vash the celebrations; it _was_ his victory. And _her_ job to clean up the mess. She realized she was still a little shell-shocked from the whole ordeal and took a few deep breaths until her heart stopped racing. Then, knowing she could leave Milly in charge of the injured women, Meryl hurried across the square to where the giant lay, still groaning loudly enough to make the ground vibrate at a constant slight hum under her feet.

Just as the town seemed to have an unlimited supply of weaponry, they were similarly equipped to detain anyone they caught; by the time Meryl had reached the scene, Nebraska was in heavy handcuffs and leg irons. Meryl retrieved the man's monocle from where it lay, having rolled several yarz away, and then—not quite sure what to do with it—tucked it into the front pocket of his white lab coat. He glared at her.

Several yarz away, Nebraska's son seemed to be in shock at the injury Vash had inflicted, almost paralyzed by it, still gripping the stump of his arm tightly in his other massive hand. The town Chairman was standing frozen, gazing up at the giant with an incredulous expression.

"What the hell are we going to do about _him_ though?" asked the Chairman, of no one in particular.

"Actually," said Bryan, appearing breathlessly at Meryl's shoulder, "there are already people on the way to take care of them. Just a few minutes away, now."

"What?" Meryl said, turning wide eyes on Bryan. _It can't possibly be __**that**__ easy._ "Who?"

"Lawmen from the prison they broke out of, I think," Bryan explained. "They were already tracking the Nebraskas here and called ahead by radio. Someone was still back at headquarters and told them that we've already captured the Nebraskas." He shared a quick glance with the Chairman and said, "Well…that they're captured, anyway."

It was only moments later that a veritable fleet of trucks and trailers and wagons of all shapes and sizes began streaming into the square from the main streets, dozens of them speeding towards where she and Bryan and the Chairman were standing. The trucks in the lead peeled off to the sides and all the vehicles drove across the square to form a wide circle around the giant before each scraped to an abrupt halt in the dirt. The moment the trucks had stopped, men began pouring out the backs of the trailers, most of them heavily armed and pointing a weapon of some kind up at the giant.

Meryl was unnerved by the militaristic efficiency of the whole operation and was glad when it all finally came to a standstill. A burly man wearing large, dark sunglasses emerged from the truck nearest Meryl and strode purposefully toward her and Bryan and the Chairman. As he approached, Meryl could see his black huge moustache bristling with each step. He stopped and stood before them with his feet spread shoulder-width apart, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Who's in charge here?" demanded the man, glaring down at them all from under bushy black eyebrows as unruly as his great bristly moustache.

"He is," Meryl said quickly, pointing toward where Bryan stood at her left. Bryan looked down at her in surprise, but on her right the Chairman seemed relieved to pass on the responsibility of dealing with these men. The man extended a hand to Bryan.

"I'm the warden," said the man gruffly, shaking Bryan's hand firmly when the other man took his. "Nebraskas' Penitentiary. Tell me what happened here," the warden continued. "Every detail."

Meryl's insides went cold.

_Vash._

If they told the warden what had really happened, that Vash the Stampede had been responsible for the events here—even though it was for the good of the town, the whole planet, even—what would stop the warden from taking Vash, too? And she'd only just found him, they couldn't take him from her _now._

Meryl tried desperately to convey her thoughts to Bryan telepathically, thinking, _please, please, please don't…_

Again Bryan and the Chairman shared the briefest of glances. Then Bryan cleared his throat and pushed his glasses further up on his nose.

"We ganged up on them," Bryan said, his voice even and sure. "The whole town. One man got off a lucky shot while the giant's fist was detached, it tore straight through all the machinery in his arm, incapacitated him. Nebraska was easy to capture after his son was down."

Amazed, Meryl tried to appear as though this story wasn't news to her. When the warden turned to look up at the giant, Meryl glanced surreptitiously sideways as Bryan. He didn't meet her eye, but he did seem to give her just the hint of a nod.

_Thank you…_

"Hm," grunted the warden. He faced Bryan again and said, "Thanks, we'll take it from here." He cupped large hands around his mouth and barked orders to his men, his deep voice echoing loudly, bouncing off the stone walls of the buildings around them. "Alright, let's get to work, people!"

The square around Meryl was suddenly a whirlwind of activity. All the men had shouldered their rifles or holstered their pistols and sprung into action of some kind or another. Nearly a dozen men were already hauling the giant's massive fist from the rubble of the building where it still lay, and another three were coiling the heavy cable that connected fist to elbow.

A new vehicle had arrived nearby and Meryl recognized the white canvas and red cross of a medical wagon. It had pulled up alongside the giant's prone form and several men—wearing white lab coats, rather than the others' law enforcement uniforms—began piling out the back. Meryl watched as they began constructing what she assumed to be a sort of field hospital. It was only a small series of tables and equipment set up in the shade of the wagon, but the white-coated men certainly seemed to know what they were doing.

Meryl made her way toward the medics and spotted the man in charge immediately. He was more world-weary than his younger counterparts and had a much less excited air than the rest. Meryl could tell this was hardly his first experience in the field and he seemed to be annoyed by the others' enthusiasm. He was also clearly more concerned with the giant than he was with the injured of the town. Meryl glanced toward where Milly was tending to the women who'd been hurt in the saloon's collapse—alone. Frowning slightly in disapproval, Meryl decided to remind the man he had obligations to care for _all _the injured, not just the prisoners.

"Sir?" Meryl said, trying to catch the head medic's attention. He was still unpacking small containers of instruments and tools and either didn't hear her or didn't want to. She spoke a little more forcefully. "Excuse me, sir?"

"What is it?" he snapped, glancing up with a scowl. Meryl matched his scowl, ready to butt heads if necessary, but the man blinked in surprise. "Oh, sorry, Miss," said the medic, looking truly apologetic. "Can I help you?" Meryl immediately dropped her own angry front.

"There are townspeople here, injured during the fighting," she explained. "Some are in dire need of help."

"Where?" demanded the medic, glancing around. "I wasn't told—it's that damn warden!" he hissed. "He only cares about getting these idiots back to the prison."

"They're over there," Meryl said, pointing across the square. "That's my partner there, caring for them. She's a dab hand at patching up, but we don't have the resources for dealing with trauma."

"I'll see to that," said the medic, and he snapped his fingers angrily at two of the young men still setting up equipment nearby. "Johnson!"

"Jenkins, sir," said one.

"Don't argue with me!" snapped the head medic. "Start taking those tables down, move across to where those women are, they need medical attention more than this great lump." He nodded sideways at the giant.

"But we've just finished putting them up—"

"_Now!_"

Both young men jumped and began hurriedly gathering the equipment again, forcing tools haphazardly back into their cases.

"Thank you," Meryl told the head medic.

"Of course," said the medic. He returned to setting up his own work station and Meryl's attention wandered to the rest of the commotion in the square. The giant's fist had been retrieved and men were busy trying to lash the forearm in place, holding the two metal fittings together where fist met elbow. Meryl watched men hauling oddly-shaped crates and heavy equipment from the trailers, gathering them in the center of the square, and she turned curiously to the head medic again.

"Do you know how they plan to transport them?" she asked. Meryl hadn't been involved in the logistics work following the capture, last go around, so she didn't know what to expect. The medic seemed pleased enough to explain what he could.

"We'll sedate them," he told her, "before we try moving them." He held up a hypodermic needle, filling it with a clear blue liquid from a small glass vial.

"You're kidding, right?" asked Meryl, staring at the needle. It wasn't enough to take down _Milly._

"Oh, this one is for Nebraska," explained the man, seeing Meryl's expression. He turned, looking for something, and then snapped his fingers again in annoyance to catch the attention of the nearest of his men. The head medic handed off the needle and the other man walked hurriedly away to where the defeated scientist stood shackled. Then the head medic went back to the wagon and leaned inside, his torso disappearing between the heavy leather flaps that served protect the vehicle's contents from the sun, and pulled something else from its depths.

"_This_ one is for his son," he said, turning back to Meryl.

"Holy shit," said Meryl, taking an alarmed step backward. "What the hell _is_ that?"

"Tranquilizer for oversize Thomas," said the head medic, hefting the gigantic needle in both hands. The body of the needle casing was so large Meryl couldn't have fit one of her small hands all the way around it.

"Uh," said Meryl. "Wow. Well." She glanced from the tranquilizer to the giant, still unsure of the proportions involved. "Do you think it's enough…?" The end of her sentence trailed off feebly.

"We have two," he assured her, hooking a thumb back toward the wagon.

"Ah," said Meryl, and she decided to leave it at that. The medic went back to his work and Meryl decided she should get to hers. She still hesitated slightly to leave the scene, watching the warden and his men handling the situation without her. This was usually _her_ job, and it felt strange to not be involved in the thick of it.

All that was left for Meryl was to write the report.

She sighed resignedly.

Turning toward Milly (and now two white-coated medics), Meryl began jogging toward her partner—and almost immediately tripped over something. Catching her balance again, Meryl looked back to see that she'd trodden on Sandy's worn stuffed rabbit, laying forgotten again during all the uproar surrounding the showdown between Vash and the Nebraskas. Meryl bent to pick up the rabbit and tried to brush off some of the dirt. It was already dusty enough that she didn't seem to have damaged or dirtied it any further and she took it with her across the square.

Meryl could tell Milly was pleased with her new support staff, smiling brightly at the medics who had come to her aid as she helped them suss out the severity of each woman's injuries. Sandy was sitting quietly next to her mother, who lay still now. The girl had her lips pressed tightly together and seemed like she was trying not to cry as she looked down at her mother.

Sandy glanced up at Meryl's approach, spotted the rabbit Meryl carried, and leapt to her feet. She snatched the stuffed animal from Meryl's hands and hugged it tightly to her chest. Then, quite unexpectedly, Sandy stepped forward to seize Meryl around the middle again, even more fiercely than she had earlier when they were both facing down the giant. Meryl wasn't sure what to do and looked awkwardly toward Milly for help, but the younger woman was busy and Meryl couldn't catch her eye. She settled for patting Sandy's head and shoulders gently.

"Thank you," mumbled Sandy, into Meryl's stomach.

"You're welcome," Meryl replied quietly, still feeling awkward. The girl released her and returned to sit at her mother's side, now clutching the stuffed rabbit tightly, her lips still pressed in a thin line. Meryl approached Milly and the younger woman turned to face her.

"Hello, Ma'am," Milly greeted her.

"How is everything over here?" Meryl asked.

"These young men are being very helpful!" said Milly, beaming, gesturing at the two men the head medic had sent over earlier. "Could you…?" She motioned to the bandage she had been wrapping around a woman's hand, asking wordlessly for someone to finish the job while she pulled Meryl aside. Both medics tripped over each other, trying to get there first. Meryl couldn't help thinking they looked like a couple of puppies, following Milly around, eager to impress.

"Are they going to be alright?" Meryl asked Milly, keeping her voice low. She didn't want Sandy to hear anything, in case the answer was _no._

"They'll all live, certainly," Milly said quietly. "Sandy's mother is fine," she added, noticing Meryl's glance toward the girl. "She's just resting. But another woman, there, might lose a leg…it was damaged pretty badly, crushed under debris." Meryl pressed her lips together as tightly as Sandy's. "We're doing all we can," Milly continued, "and these two have the skills for the more serious injuries. I think I'll stay and do what I can to help."

"Alright," Meryl said. She had already known Milly would say this. "I'll go get the Thomas and find us somewhere to stay tonight." Milly nodded, and returned to her work.

At the other end of town, Meryl retrieved their Thomas with little incident—though they _had_ been asleep, and sleeping Thomas were the _worst_; Meryl had never managed to wake one without getting bitten. This time, at least, she got off light with just a quick snap at her elbow that didn't quite hold long enough to really hurt her.

She led the Thomas to the nearest inn, which was actually a combination saloon and lodging, with rooms to rent upstairs. Meryl tried to get a room with two beds for her and Milly to share, but the round old woman at the bar told her there were only singles available. Apparently the larger rooms at the north end of the building had been half-destroyed during the hunt for Vash. Meryl gritted her teeth and paid for two rooms, and then made several trips to drag both her own and Milly's luggage up to their fourth-story accommodations.

Out of breath, Meryl shucked her cloak onto her bed and came back downstairs for the last time to lead the Thomas around to the stables at the back of the building. She found an empty stall at the far end of the stables, large enough to fit both Thomas, and hurriedly removed their saddles and hung the gear on the wall, retreating as quickly as possible.

Unreasonably pleased with herself for avoiding any more bites, Meryl returned to the saloon and was surprised to find Vash sitting there at a table across from Bryan and the Chairman. Vash had a large glass of water in one hand and a half-eaten sandwich in the other, and he was grinning broadly.

"It'd just be a nuisance to a drifter like me," Vash was saying.

"Are you sure?" asked the Chairman, leaning forward. "I mean, we did try to _kill_ you…"

Meryl approached the bar, where the old woman seemed to be assembling another large pile of sandwiches. With a sudden pang of hunger, Meryl realized they were salmon.

"What's going on?" she asked the woman, quietly.

The woman didn't look up from her work, but she jerked her chin toward the table. "He gave up the reward money for capturing the Nebraskas."

"Really?" asked Meryl, eyebrows raised. She wasn't _surprised_ by this, really… She just wouldn't have thought of it.

"It's going to pay for someone to fix the plant," continued the old woman. "They say there's already an engineer on the way here."

Bryan and the Chairman were getting to their feet now, each reaching out to shake one of Vash's gloved hands. They left the saloon together, talking excitedly, and Meryl swept toward their vacated seats in two long strides.

"Let's talk," she said, pulling out the chair across from Vash and sitting down where Bryan had been just moments before. Vash looked surprised, half a salmon sandwich stuffed in his mouth.

"Tmphk?" he asked.

"You knew who I am, what I'm doing," Meryl said. Vash swallowed the sandwich with a loud gulp. "Why didn't you tell me you were Vash the Stampede?" Meryl pressed.

"You never asked," said Vash, shrugging. He flashed a cheeky, Idiot grin at her and Meryl wanted to leap across the table and wring his neck. "Besides," he went on, "would you have believed me?" He waved at the woman at the bar, beaming at her and asking brightly if he could have another plate of sandwiches.

Meryl glanced away irritably, but just as before, during the showdown with Nebraska, she began thinking of all the moments she had seen the Idiot suddenly become that other man. The man in red who had so often intervened, saved her life, stood up to bandits and kidnappers and psychotic monsters and walked away unscathed just to disappear into the Idiot again.

But that man in red, and his piercing green eyes…

"Maybe," Meryl whispered. She looked up in alarm at the sudden choking cough from across the table and Vash was wide-eyed and staring back at her in shock.

"Wh—_what?_" he spluttered, still coughing up bits of the sandwich he seemed to have inhaled. Meryl recoiled as a whole crust of bread bounced across the table toward her and she bumped into the returning barkeep, who nearly lost the tray of sandwiches she carried in one hand.

"Oh, sorry," Meryl apologized to the old woman, glancing around. When she turned back to Vash, the grin was plastered on his face again as though nothing had happened.

"Th'nks!" he told the woman enthusiastically, stuffing another sandwich into his mouth in just two massive bites.

Meryl watched him chewing and tried to decide what to say; what _did_ they need to talk about? Everything had changed for her, very abruptly, and she needed to approach this man differently than she had in the past.

"I don't, by the way," Vash said, suddenly, after he had swallowed the next sandwich whole.

"Don't what?" asked Meryl bemusedly, taken by surprise in the middle of her musings.

"Know who you are, and what you're doing."

"You don't—_what?_" Meryl couldn't make sense of this… She'd introduced herself every time she'd seen him! Admittedly, she was trying to introduce herself to someone _else_ each time, not Vash; but he was always _there_, usually only iches away.

Vash just shrugged.

"I only know you've been following me around for months," he said, washing down another sandwich with huge gulp of water.

"I have not!" Meryl retorted, angrily. "You've just been everywhere I end up!"

Vash snorted into his glass and started coughing again. Meryl ignored this.

"I've just been looking for Vash the Stampede!" she hissed.

"And you found him," said Vash with a grin, once he'd stopped coughing.

"Yes," Meryl said, icily. "Just this afternoon." He just laughed at her.

"Okay, so you found me," said Vash. He leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head as he stretched. "Now what?" he asked. "Sixty billion goes a long way." Then he raised his eyebrows. "Or is it thirty? Split with the big girl…"

"What?" demanded Meryl, once she'd worked out what he meant. "I'm not a bounty hunter!" She found herself surprisingly stung by this accusation.

"I didn't think so," said Vash, half-shrugging again. "Not really." He looked contemplatively down at the two remaining sandwiches for a moment, and when he spoke again his voice was that quiet, even tone she knew from her interactions with the man in red. "Not from everything I've seen of you."

Meryl wasn't sure how to interpret this. Thankfully Vash looked up a moment later, grinning again as he bit into yet another sandwich.

"But then," he went on, mouth full, "I can't figure out what you _are_ doing."

"I work for an insurance company—Bernadelli Insurance," Meryl explained. Vash looked puzzled and Meryl almost scowled at him. "They're the people who shill out the money when you cause trouble," she said flatly.

"It's not like I do it on _purpose!_" Vash retorted.

"But it happens!" said Meryl. "Every time you show up, something explodes!"

Vash folded his arms across his chest defensively. "Not _always_," he muttered.

"Look," Meryl said, more seriously, leaning forward toward Vash with her elbows on the table. "It's my job—mine and my partner's—to keep you under surveillance, stop you from causing damage to people or property. As little as possible, anyway," she added. _Not like they'd had a lot of luck in that area so far…_

"So, in other words," Vash said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth now, "you _are_ following me around."

Meryl opened her mouth to reply but almost immediately closed it again, unable to come up with a counterargument.

"Well, yes," she conceded. Tentatively she added, "Is that…um..." Meryl floundered a little. "…okay?" she finished, lamely.

Meryl felt ridiculous for asking; it's not like Vash had any say in the matter—it was her job, whether he liked it or not. But she'd much rather he liked it, she had decided. It would certainly make things easier for her if Vash wasn't actively trying to lose her in his travels. If they could strike up a good working relationship, or at least agree to stay out of each other's way where possible…

"I could think of worse things," Vash said finally, and Meryl actually smiled. "Well, not many," he added, "but I guess—"

"_Oh!_ You—!" Meryl let out a harsh angry breath and stood quickly, frowning at Vash. Annoyed and wanting to spite him, Meryl snatched the last sandwich from the plate and took it with her as she stormed away toward the stairs at the other end of the saloon.

"Hey, wait," said Vash, quickly grabbing a fistful of fabric at the back of Meryl's tunic as she passed by him, pulling her stumbling backwards. She turned and slapped his arm away with her free hand and glared at him fiercely.

"What!" she snapped, ready and willing to actually fight over the sandwich.

"I still don't know your name," Vash said, softly. Both his query and his voice took Meryl by surprise, and then he was looking up at her with those clear green eyes that inexplicably gave her goosebumps and made her breathing a little more difficult. She tried to shake off the feeling, or at least to appear unaffected by the change in his demeanor.

"Meryl," she replied, glad her voice came out as evenly as it did. "Meryl Stryfe."

Vash smiled now—a small, genuine smile that complemented those eyes and seemed to amplify that strange feeling in her chest—and said, "That's a good name."

Unnerved and embarrassed by the way he was looking at her, Meryl turned away and hurried up the stairs to write the most important report of her life.


	27. Episode 5, Hard Puncher, Part 5

Meryl was sitting at the small table provided in her room, her shaking fingers poised over the keys of the typewriter. But the paper in front of her was still blank, and she'd been sitting there for at least half an hour.

How to even begin?

She took another bite of the salmon sandwich she'd stolen from Vash and chewed thoughtfully before finally pounding out a single line of text:

_Four months after receiving our assignment, Miss Thompson and I have finally made contact with our target, Vash the Stampede._

Then nothing.

Another bite.

Meryl glanced up from the page and stared for a moment at blank space, eyes glazed and unfocused into the middle-distance. She had absolutely no idea what to write; she could barely make sense of all this herself, so how the hell was she going to describe it to the company? At least she hadn't even bothered to mention the Idiot in her other reports—she wouldn't have to try explaining _that_ mix-up.

A knock on her door was a welcome distraction and Meryl jumped up and hurried to let Milly in.

The younger woman anticipated Meryl's question and answered as she entered the room.

"Everyone is going to be alright—or at least, looked after," Milly told her. "Once those two young men got the field hospital set up properly, more townsfolk came forward for help. All the people who had been injured while everyone was trying to catch Mr. Vash—"

"And destroying the town in the process," huffed Meryl. _That_ would have to go in the report.

"Yes, well," said Milly, "at least everything seems to be working out as best as possible now. Mr. Vash gave up the reward money for the Nebraskas, so the town can fix the plant, and the warden and his men have taken Nebraska and his son back to—"

"What—already?" interrupted Meryl, surprised.

"Mm-hmm," Milly confirmed, nodding. Then she looked pensive, as though she were searching for the right words. "They were very…efficient," she decided.

"But what about the injured?" Meryl demanded. "Is the medical wagon—"

"Oh, goodness no," Milly assured her. "The medic and his men stayed behind—not that the warden was happy about it—to make sure everyone is seen to."

"Good," said Meryl, finding even more respect for the man for standing up to the warden and wanting to clean up after _all_ the mess the Nebraskas left behind.

"Well," Milly said, finally. "I'm going to write some letters home. It's been a big day!" She smiled happily.

"Do you want to use the typewriter?" Meryl asked, hopefully. Milly just laughed and patted Meryl on the head.

"Just write the report, Ma'am," said Milly.

Meryl slunk back to the desk and sat down with a heavy sigh. When she heard the door open again, Meryl turned before Milly could leave, asking, "Hey, do you want me to come by on my way to post this?" She pointed at the unfinished report. "I can pick up any letters you have finished and take them as well," she offered.

Milly hesitated for a moment—someone else might not have noticed, but Meryl at least knew Milly well enough to feel that something was off. But then Milly smiled brightly again and waved goodbye as she stepped out into the hall.

"Oh, it's alright, Ma'am! Don't worry about it," said Milly cheerfully, beginning to close the door behind her.

"It's no trouble," Meryl insisted, puzzled by Milly's reaction, "I don't mind—"

"I said it's alright!" said Milly, suddenly terse.

Meryl tensed in her seat. Milly had _never_ snapped at her before—or at anybody, as far as Meryl could remember.

"I mean, I'm in no hurry," Milly said quickly, smiling broadly now as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "I'll just post them all together, in the morning."

"Al—alright," Meryl agreed, nodding, trying to smile naturally. Milly waved again and left, closing the door behind her. The smile slid off Meryl's face and she still sat frozen in her seat. For an instant, she had recognized that same look on Milly's face that she had seen at the graveyard outside Orleans—that strange, fierce _passion_ that Meryl didn't understand.

Unsettled, Meryl tried to put the whole exchange to the back of her mind and turned back to the typewriter. Unfortunately she still found herself more or less uninspired, so Meryl decided to finish off the last few bites of the salmon sandwich before actually putting fingers to keys again.

Several frustrating hours later, Meryl sat picking a stray fishbone out of her teeth with her thumbnail while she read over what had turned out to be a remarkably standard disaster report. The only real change from the usual was that she was finally able to say that she and Milly had actually _found_ Vash the Stampede.

She explained, in painful detail, all that had happened in Inepril from the moment she and Milly had arrived there. Meryl included a commendation about the prison's medic staying to look after the wounded of Inepril. As she had in Felnarl, Meryl changed Bernadelli's contact information from the true town official to someone much more worthy of the job, and privately she hoped Bryan would eventually take over the Chairman's position in a more official capacity. The report ended with an account of the warden transporting the Nebraskas back to their specially-designed penitentiary, and requested that word be put out planet-wide that the bounty had already been claimed.

Meryl had taken one small liberty with the truth, however: in the end, she decided she would blame Vash for all the actual damage done to the town. In fact, _none_ of it had been his doing (though she thought she could argue that he was the instigating factor), but Meryl knew that the town couldn't possibly afford to pay for all the repair work itself. All the money won by the Nebraskas' capture had gone to hiring an engineer to fix the plant. If the property damage was said to be Vash's doing—and if no one contradicted her—Bernadelli would have to pay the insurance the town so desperately needed.

As she folded the report into an envelope, Meryl did feel a twinge of guilt for further tarnishing Vash's name. But somehow, she didn't think he would mind all that much, if it meant sparing the town even more trouble…

Leaving her cloak where it lay sprawled across the small bed, Meryl closed and locked the door behind her, pocketing the key as she hurried down the stairs to the saloon. It was much more populated than she expected, and only then did she realize that both suns had set in the time it took her to write the report. Now a good chunk of the town was here celebrating the day's mixed victories, making loud toasts and ordering drinks from the two young waitresses ferrying glasses between bar and tables. Meryl decided she might try to talk Milly into coming down later for a celebratory drink of their own. Today had been quite a triumph for the two of them as well, hadn't it?

"Hey, s'that Insurance Girl!"

Meryl heard the words, but didn't have enough time to really process them before an arm shot out from nowhere and wrapped around her waist, halting her progress across the saloon to the open door.

"Let go!" Meryl ordered, as the arm pulled her around to face the bar. A group of men sat waiting for her, all looking more than a little tipsy. They regarded her curiously, and Meryl finally noticed that the arm still gripping her was clad in red.

"Told-ya," Vash slurred, to the man Meryl's right. "She's s'posed to follow me around _everywhere_. Right?" he added, prompting Meryl's confirmation by prodding her hard in the side with one gloved finger. "Right?"

Meryl had to use both hands to pry his arm from around her waist and the report she still carried was half-crumpled in the effort.

"Ooh," said Vash, suddenly. His eyes went wide with delight and he grabbed for the envelope, asking, "What's that? Is it about _me?_" Meryl pulled it out of his reach just in time, holding it as far behind her as her arm would stretch. Vash lunged forward for another attempt and in the resulting scuffle Meryl ended up accidentally-on-purpose punching him in the gut, making an escape while the other men laughed at Vash's sudden wheezing breaths.

Once she managed to make her way out of the saloon, Meryl was distressed to discover—after a twenty minute walk to the other side of town—that the post office had been one of the buildings destroyed during all the chaos of the last two days. She made a growling noise deep in her throat and tried to rub that familiar ache out of her forehead.

Meryl returned defeated to the saloon and made her way to the bar, at the opposite end from Vash, and caught the old woman bartender's attention. She held up the envelope, which now looked a little the worse for wear, and asked, "Is there any way you could include this in your mail the next time there's a pick-up?"

"No problem, hon," said the woman, reaching out to take the report. Meryl didn't release her grip right away and the old woman frowned.

"Whatever you do," Meryl told her, "do _not_ let that man touch this envelope." She pointed toward Vash, who was already leaning out over the bar to watch the exchange between Meryl and the old woman interestedly.

"Hm," grunted the woman, sizing up Vash from where she stood. "You got it." She tucked the envelope down the front of her dress and Meryl snorted in her attempt to bite back a bark of laughter as Vash's face suddenly blanched. He leaned back into his chair and rejoined the conversation with the other men, looking disappointed.

"Ma'am! Ma'am, over here!"

Meryl recognized Milly's voice over the sound of the crowd, but she hardly needed the vocal indicator to find her; Milly was standing at her full height, waving one long arm excitedly over her head. Meryl felt her usual small twinge of jealousy at the other woman's size.

_You could probably see her from neighboring towns…_

Navigating her way through the crowd was no easy feat; the saloon seemed packed to its full capacity by now, but Meryl could still see an empty seat at the table where Milly was waiting for her, surrounded by several young men—and some not so young.

"Thanks," Meryl told her when she reached them, hoisting herself up slightly onto the tall chair (her toes didn't quite reach the floor). "What are we having?" asked Meryl, glancing around to see that everyone had a drink. An empty glass appeared before her.

"Bourbon!" said Milly, happily. Meryl could tell from the flush of Milly's skin and the giddiness in her voice that the younger woman was already a few drinks ahead. Milly filled Meryl's glass and she accepted it gladly. Meryl was about to drink when someone bellowed a toast for the whole saloon to hear and join:

"To Vash the Stampede! For saving Inepril from the Nebraska Family!"

Dozens of voices shouted, "Vash the Stampede!" and Meryl caught a glimpse of Vash at the bar, looking overjoyed to be the center of attention.

Meryl leaned close to Milly and clinked her own glass against her partner's and whispered, "And to us, for finally finding him."

"To us, Ma'am," agreed Milly, beaming at her. They drank.

The men at their table continued buying them drinks throughout the evening, in exchange for hearing Milly's stories from all their previous run-ins with "Mr. Vash." At first, Meryl was happy to help tell tales on the Idiot, but then she found herself pondering again the whole Idiot/Vash dichotomy.

She spotted him at the bar again and Vash was all grins and laughter, saying who-knows-what to the crowd of men around him. Watching him like this, all Meryl could see was the Idiot. If she hadn't been in the square that afternoon, if the man in red hadn't told her he really _was_ Vash the Stampede, Meryl would never have believed it. Not really. She had seen him be two different people too many times, and she was trying hard to merge the two into just _Vash._

Milly patted her shoulder once or twice while she was meditating on it, and Meryl responded vaguely with a "Mm-hmm," without even knowing to what she was agreeing in one of the other woman's stories. Meryl was too busy watching Vash, or at least staring his direction as she sat tuning out everything around her, contemplating him, nursing the glass of bourbon she still held in one hand.

The man in red—_he_ was Vash the Stampede. Meryl could understand that much. She had seen him do the impossible, perform feats that only such a skilled gunman could manage. But she was puzzled to find that the same, selfless man in red was actually Vash. She'd never have expected to find…well, to find a _good_ man. But that's what she saw, in the man in red. Not the monster Meryl had expected him to be.

_But what about July?_

Meryl stiffened in her seat to think of it. The third great city of Gunsmoke, destroyed in an instant. When she first received the Vash assignment, Meryl read every report she could get her hands on at Bernadelli. It was before her time, 23 years ago; she'd barely been crawling when it happened, and she never even heard about the disaster until she was working on a steamer and there was a rumor the Humanoid Typhoon was on board somewhere.

July City had been decimated to rubble, destroying all the water mains and power generators, blocking the streets and destroying homes, forcing the city into chaos. Those who survived the initial blast—and everyone had survived, Meryl knew—fell to infighting, and the resulting marshal law ruined any hope of keeping the public in order. Over three-quarters of the inhabitants were dead by the time aid reached July a matter of days later.

And now Meryl was staring at the man who was said to have caused it.

She didn't believe it for a second. Whatever this man was, Meryl had never once seen anything like the Humanoid Typhoon in him.

Suddenly someone grabbed Meryl's shoulder, pulling her abruptly out of her reverie.

"What?" she said, startled, glancing up to see one of the saloon's waitresses looking exasperatedly down at her. "Sorry—what?"

"Girl, I been trying to tell you," said the waitress, pointing at a fresh glass of whiskey that Meryl didn't notice had been set down in front of her. "For you. From the guy at the bar you've been making eyes at all night."

"What?" Meryl said again, glancing involuntarily toward where Vash sat before glancing up at the waitress again, wide-eyed. "No," she said, hurriedly, "it's not like that! I'm just—"

"Uh-huh," interrupted the waitress, giving Meryl a wry smirk. "Of course not."

"But it's not!" Meryl tried to argue, "It's my job…" But the waitress had already disappeared before Meryl could explain herself properly. She looked helplessly back up at the bar and felt a little shock to see Vash looking back at her. With those clear green _other_ eyes of the man in red. Then he raised his own glass to her, flashed her a huge grin, and winked.

Meryl immediately stared down into the glass of whiskey still sitting on the table, half-covering her face with one hand while trying to rub out the furious ache in her forehead. She tried to tell herself the flush she felt on her cheeks was from the alcohol and not from embarrassment. Or from anything else.

She spent the rest of the evening very purposefully _not_ looking anywhere near the bar, and started paying more attention to Milly's anecdotes about Vash. With each drink the men bought her, Meryl began adding her own details as she remembered them and Milly looked delighted every time she spoke up.

Eventually Meryl had everyone at the table laughing themselves to tears at her retelling of the story of when Vash tried to impress Marianne, the undercover marshal. She did her best to recreate one of the ridiculous poses she remembered Vash striking, and accidentally bumped Milly's arm.

Milly's glass fell off the table into her lap, spilling bourbon everywhere, but the younger woman didn't seem to have noticed. Meryl realized (with some guilt at her own neglect) that Milly had passed out where she sat, sometime while Meryl wasn't paying attention. Glancing around now, Meryl saw that the saloon was beginning to empty. The other men at their table were looking around too, seemingly just as surprised to see the crowd thinning out.

"I had better get her up to bed," Meryl told her audience, and they all nodded blearily in agreement before heading for the bar to settle their bill. Milly had slumped over and her mouth was slightly open, letting out the quietest of snores. Meryl gave a little smile and shook her head—then immediately wished she hadn't. She was already dizzy from all the drink, and now she started to wonder if she could even get Milly up the stairs without them both falling back down again in a drunken stupor.

"Milly," she whispered, gently shaking the younger woman's shoulder. Milly just grunted slightly, licking dry lips, and turned her face away. "Milly," Meryl said again, louder, "you have to get up now, I'll put you to bed."

"Ma—ma—ma'aaaaahhhm?" yawned Milly, finally sitting up and looking vaguely in the general area of Meryl's face.

"Come on, time for bed," said Meryl, trying to coax the younger woman up to her feet. Milly looked around the room, apparently surprised to find it nearly empty.

Milly managed to climb the stairs more or less by herself. Meryl walked behind her and braced her once when she swayed backward slightly. Meryl was relieved the taller woman didn't ever truly lose her balance; Meryl would have ended up squashed beneath her at the foot of the stairs.

She walked Milly to her room and settled her into bed. The younger woman fell asleep almost immediately, and Meryl pulled off her shoes and covered her with the thin blanket leying folded at the foot of the bed. Meryl locked the door from the inside and shut it behind her, smiling to hear Milly's gentle snoring through door.

When she arrived at her own door, Meryl was dismayed to find she had lost the key. She realized it must have fallen out of her pocket at some time earlier in the evening. With a sinking feeling, Meryl silently prayed it was just downstairs in the saloon, rather than somewhere between here and the ruins of the post office.

Frustrated, Meryl made her way back down the three long flights of stairs, slipping once and gripping the banister tightly to right herself. The lights had been extinguished at the ground floor and Meryl relied on the dim hall light at the second floor landing above her, moving carefully among chairs and tables as her eyes adjusted to the near-dark.

To her great relief, Meryl found her key still resting on the chair where she had been sitting earlier. She sighed, and then froze as she heard the clinking of glass, then the sound of a bottle rolling across the floor. Meryl glanced around the room, trying to figure out where the sound had come from, and heard a long, low groan from near the bar.

Eyes now acclimatized to the dim moonlight falling through the windows, Meryl made her way toward the bar and nearly tripped over someone laying sprawled across the floor on his stomach. She knelt hurriedly at the man's side and gently rolled him onto his back.

"Oh, it _would_ be you," Meryl muttered, exasperated.

"Hello!" said Vash, happily. His eyes seemed to struggle to focus properly on her face, and he burst into a fit of giggles. Meryl sighed.

"Come on," she said, hauling Vash up into a sitting position. "Let's get you upstairs." She threw one of his long arms over her shoulder and tried to pull him up with her as she stood.

_God, he's heavy…_

"Come on, up-up-up," Meryl urged, straining to at least muscle him up off his ass, if not to his feet.

Eventually Vash did manage to stand, at which point her shoulder couldn't remotely reach his. Meryl waited to see if he could walk straight, and when he couldn't, she gripped him sideways around the chest and tried to keep him upright.

"Have you got a room here?" Meryl asked, realizing she might not actually have anywhere to take him, now she'd managed to get him to his feet.

"Mm-hmm," Vash affirmed. Then he giggled again. "Right by yours."

"Oh, great," muttered Meryl. She wondered suddenly how he would know where she was staying—but then decided she would rather just get there and sleep than bother thinking about it.

"Alright, here we go," she said, more to herself than to Vash, and together they stumbled toward the stairs. She was pretty impressed; even while somewhat drunk herself, she could keep Vash on a fairly straight course.

"So you've always thought I might be Vash," he mumbled abruptly, surprising her.

"I've always thought you were an Idiot," corrected Meryl automatically.

"Yes, but not _always,_" Vash persisted, swaying to one side until Meryl caught him. "Not _all_ the time."

"Well," said Meryl as the reached the bottom of the staircase. It struck her how strange it was that they might be having such a conversation with both of them drunk, trying to make their way up—_oh god, three flights_—the stairs. She sighed heavily. "I suppose not."

Meryl stepped onto the first stair, which put her at a height from which she could actually pull Vash's arm over her shoulder again.

"Most of the time," she grunted, muscling her left shoulder into his armpit, "you run around like some—" she wrapped her arm around his back and pulled him up one step, "—unbelievably stupid—" he followed her another step, "—idiotic _moron_—" another step, "—in my way, and underfoot, and shrieking at the top of your lungs."

Vash seemed to be nodding absently at her words, staring down to pay attention to his feet, and Meryl just shook her head in disbelief. They made slow but steady progress, his other hand occasionally steadying himself on the opposite wall when he lost his balance to the side. Meryl finally planted one foot at the second floor landing at the top of the stairs, with Vash just one step behind.

"But then," she panted, fatigued from hauling nearly half his weight, "all of a sudden you'll turn into someone—"

Vash's foot slipped down off the landing and he dropped abruptly onto the previous stair. Still a step ahead and gripping him tightly, Meryl was pulled backward and adrenaline suddenly pumped through her drunken haze as she had visions of them both falling to their deaths at the bottom of the staircase.

Meryl turned toward him as he fell, one arm still trapped behind his back, and it wrenched her hand from the banister. She didn't have time to think anything—_any last words?—_before Vash lunged sideways for the banister with the arm still over her shoulder. He pulled himself up, dragging Meryl with him, but she wasn't able to catch her feet under her at the top of the stairs. Their legs tangled together and both were too drunk to get themselves sorted out again soon enough to keep from toppling over.

Meryl fell hard on her back onto the worn carpet of the second floor landing, knocking the wind clean out of her lungs. Vash followed, though he caught himself jarringly on his elbows, managing not to crush Meryl under him.

"Are you alright?" he asked, worriedly. His eyes had come into focus and they met hers in a gaze so intense it nearly knocked her sober. Meryl just nodded, eyes wide.

"Someone else," she finished, breathless. She recognized those green eyes from countless other instances where the Idiot had suddenly turned into the man in red and looked at her like this, making her heart pound double-time, raising goosebumps all over her skin. There had been those brief moments between them, in the past, that Meryl couldn't understand or ignore—but _this?_

Yet somehow, inexplicably, his face was drawing nearer to hers. His nose touched hers and they shared a breath that reeked of whiskey. Meryl closed her eyes and felt his lips brush across hers in a touch so feather-light she thought she might have just imagined it. When she opened her eyes again, crystal-clear green ones flashed down at her.

For a moment they lay there in silence, sharing breath, each perhaps waiting for the other to act.

Then Meryl surprised them both, surging up to press her lips intently against his.

She felt Vash suck in a quick, startled breath through his nose, but he immediately let it out again in a fervent groan and opened his mouth to hers, letting his weight fall from one elbow and pressing her down to the floor. He tasted like smoky whiskey and something _sweet_…

_This can't really be happening._

Still half in disbelief at her own actions, Meryl pulled one of her arms from beneath Vash and slid her hand up the back of his neck, her fingers making deep furrows in his bristly hair as she pulled his mouth even more tightly to hers.

Kissing her just as deeply as she could pull him in, Vash slipped one hand up under Meryl's tunic and blouse and the worn leather of his glove was soft on the skin over her ribs. She broke the kiss in surprise and inhaled a shuddering breath, making her arch up into his touch almost involuntarily. Her body was rapidly overheating, and she knew she couldn't blame just the alcohol anymore.

She could feel Vash moving his hand down the side of her body, his palm burning hot against her even through the leather glove and her heavy tunic and leggings. His hand squeezed her thigh and caught the crook of her knee, pulling her leg up over his hip to let him settle even more heavily over her. Meryl gripped his shoulders and gasped to feel him hard and hot against her and he swallowed her quiet moan, claiming her mouth again as he pressed himself down into her.

"Hey," Vash whispered suddenly, speaking quite clearly despite the fact Meryl still felt his mouth pressed hot and forcefully to hers. "Hey," he said again, his hand on her shoulder beginning to shake her gently. "Hey, wake up."

An instant later Meryl was sitting up with a jerk that made pain flare in her head. Disoriented, she glanced around quickly and found herself sitting again in the corner of the emptying saloon. Milly was face-down on the table beside her, and Vash stood at her shoulder, looking entirely drunk and exhausted. Meryl stared up at him and felt her breath coming too quickly, felt her cheeks burn hotly as images from the dream flashed through her mind, vivid and clear.

For a terrifying moment she thought he somehow knew, his eyes flashing that same _something_ that had made her heart race and spread goosebumps all over her body. But he blinked and it was gone.

"Milly," Meryl said, suddenly, glad of the excuse to look away and turn her attention to her partner. "Milly, wake up."

"Ma—ma—ma'aaaaahhhm?" yawned Milly, sitting up and stretching her arms above her head.

In a scene eerily identical to the one in her dream, Meryl managed to lead Milly up all three flights of stairs without incident, following along in a fairly steady stream of guests (mostly townsfolk whose homes had been destroyed, Meryl found) making their way up to their rooms. She put Milly to bed, locked the door, and made her way down the hall to her own room.

Meryl tripped over a bump in the worn carpet, and would have fallen if someone hadn't caught her elbow, steadying her on her feet.

"Thanks," breathed Meryl. She turned to see Vash and gasped, leaping away from his touch as though he'd burned her.

Vash just looked perplexed, frowning dazedly down at her.

Meryl jammed her key in the lock so quickly that it stuck for a moment before she could shove the door open with her shoulder and escape from the hall into her room without even looking at Vash again. Then she leaned against the door behind her, breathing harder than such a small, meaningless interaction should warrant.

After a few minutes, Meryl heard Vash fumbling with his own key in the lock of the room next to hers. His door swung open on hinges desperately in need of an oiling, and closed again a moment later. Then Meryl recognized the sound of a heavy weight falling on squeaky mattress springs and heard a sigh loud enough to carry through the wall. She let her head fall back against the door and closed her eyes, breathing out in a long sigh of her own.

Meryl would have stayed up all night to avoid another dream. Thankfully, exhaustion and alcohol soon forced her into a dreamless sleep.


	28. Episode 6, Lost July, Part 1

Meryl woke to the sound of cannon fire.

She covered her ears with her hands and shrunk back under the thin sheets of her bed.

"Ma'am?" called Milly. "I've got breakfast for you."

"Stop knocking!" Meryl hissed. Her voice sounded loudly in her skull and she groaned as she sat up and made her way to the door.

Milly smiled down at Meryl as she entered the room, carrying a tray with a simple breakfast of dry toast and coffee. The younger woman looked disgustingly cheerful; if Meryl hadn't been the one to make sure her partner didn't pass out on the way up three flights of stairs, she would never have guessed that Milly had been drinking herself to a stupor the night before.

_She's not even tired. That's not fair._

Meryl must have been glaring, because Milly just patted her on the head and said, "Eat something, Ma'am, you know it'll help." Meryl crunched through a piece of toast (no butter) and had to admit that having even a little food in a queasy stomach _did_ help settle things. Taking long swigs of coffee between bites of toast, Meryl began to feel like herself again.

Just as she opened her mouth to thank Milly (both for the food and for the younger woman's unwavering patience), a deafening horn blast sounded in the morning air, ringing in Meryl's ears. Milly winced, but rather than making Meryl's headache worse, the noise was comforting and familiar to her and it actually made her feel better. She grinned broadly as she turned to the room's small window and Meryl could feel Milly hovering over her shoulder to look out as well.

"That's the biggest sand steamer I've ever seen!" Milly exclaimed, staring out where the flat Inepril skyline was broken by the shape of the massive steamer.

"It's a Humpback class," Meryl said, recognizing the model immediately. "An older aught-three. See the rounded hull?" She pointed, tapping at the glass of the window. "No extenders. Always tended to shake, I thought."

When Meryl looked back to Milly, the younger woman was staring back at her, dumbstruck. Meryl felt embarrassed by Milly's awed expression; she had forgotten that this was an area of her life that Milly knew very little about. Meryl gave a little cough, turning her face back down to her empty plate. She pushed the toast crumbs around with her index finger, drawing a tiny smiley face in bas-relief, trying to think of something to say to change the subject.

The steamer gave another thunderous blast on its horn and Meryl gave a start.

"The plant engineer!" she said, suddenly remembering. "He's supposed to be on the steamer!"

Milly just wore a bemused expression as Meryl overturned her breakfast tray in her haste to sweep around the room, grabbing pieces of her wardrobe as she found them and hurrying to pull on her usual tunic-over-leggings ensemble. As she finally settled the heavy cloak around her shoulders, Meryl gave another glance out the window.

"It looks like they're already unloading the passengers," said Meryl. She left the breakfast tray where it had fallen and ushered Milly out the door, locking it behind them and stowing the key in a safe pocket inside her cloak. Milly followed her down the hall without comment until they reached the ground floor. Then she asked, "I'm sorry, Ma'am, but why are we in such a hurry? What does the plant engineer have to do with us?"

"Nothing, technically," Meryl said. "But I'm looking forward to having all the ends tied up on this one. Shall we go meet him?"

"Do you think we might be able to get a tour of the plant?" Milly asked, suddenly more interested. "I've never even been in one!"

"Me neither," said Meryl, considering this opportunity. "I suppose there's no harm in asking."

They set out for the steamer docks at the edge of town, but the streets were unusually busy. Most of the town was bustling around the docks, awaiting visitors or ordered goods, and Meryl and Milly made slow progress toward the steamer. Meryl was amazed to see that so many of the townsfolk were also setting up shops in the marketplace. It made sense, to open as much trade as possible while the steamer and its passengers and crew were in port, but Meryl was taken aback by the amount of _stuff_ the town had left to sell after the wanton destruction of the last few days. She glanced around interestedly at some of the market stalls they passed on their way to the docks.

Fewer than two yarz from where Meryl stood, two small sand-shuttles crashed headlong into each other. She jumped at the sounds of shattered glass and twisting metal and turned automatically to see what had happened. A sharp hissing noise like nails on a chalkboard slammed into Meryl like a physical blow and sent her staggering backwards, her vision gone suddenly dark. She gasped in shock—and inhaled a mouthful of fur.

"_Thpech!_"

Meryl swatted repeatedly at the warm, soft bulk covering her face and Kuroneko hissed again, finally releasing her and jumping into Milly's waiting arms. Meryl coughed and began desperately trying to pick cat hair off her tongue with both hands.

"They nearly hit him, Ma'am!" Milly said, angrily. Then she cradled the cat gently in her arms and cooed at it, saying, "You poor little thing…lucky Ma'am was there to catch you!"

"_Catch_ him?" Meryl squawked. "He nearly _suffocated_ me!"

"Nyao…"

Meryl glared at the cat, but he had started purring loudly and was rubbing his head under Milly's chin, making her giggle. Meryl knew that Milly would always side with the cat, when it came to these kinds of things, and gave up.

_But what the hell had happened?_

Meryl jogged over to where the two drivers were stepping out of their damaged vehicles. They appeared unhurt, if a little dazed, but neither seemed at all concerned with the accident. Both were staring up at the steamer, pointing, and Meryl realized they weren't the only people doing so.

Every man there was looking up the long gangplank leading from the ground to the second lower-deck of the steamer, and most mouths had dropped open slightly as men stared in astonishment.

"Oh my," said Milly. "Look, Ma'am." Meryl followed Milly's pointing finger and finally saw what the others were gawping at.

It was a woman, and it was easy to see why she was causing such a reaction. Her figure was willowy, with curves in all the right places and a bust so generous that Meryl would have thought it nearly impossible for the woman to stand upright. She carried a frilly lavender parasol to shade herself, but hardly needed it; she wore a large-brimmed hat that cast most of her face in shadow, revealing only a petite chin and voluptuous red lips.

As she reached the end of the gangplank and stepped down onto the ground, the woman seemed to glide across the sand, her long dress trailing regally behind her as she walked purposefully toward the townsfolk waiting en masse for the steamer to unload both its passengers and its goods.

Meryl's eyes followed the woman's path to her likely destination and recognized Bryan and the Chairman waiting near the front of the crowd. Bryan was holding up a large sign, welcoming the plant engineering crew. He and the Chairman looked shocked when the woman walked straight toward them.

Both men started forward quickly, each clearly trying to beat the other to greet the woman. Bryan reached her first, but only because the Chairman had tripped all over himself in his hurry. Meryl watched each man kiss the woman's hand in turn.

_What the hell is going on?_

She picked up her pace slightly.

When Meryl and Milly reached the scene a few minutes later, the Chairman was still gawping openly at the woman. Bryan managed to wrench his gaze away from her face and spotted Meryl and Milly, smiling dazedly.

"Ah, Meryl," he said vaguely, his eyes not quite properly focused on her. Bryan gestured at the woman from the steamer, saying, "This is the plant engineer we called for."

Meryl was almost immediately put off by the woman as she met her gaze.

"My name is Elizabeth," said the woman, disguising a sycophantic smile as an affable one; Meryl could tell the difference. Her voice was pitched lower than most women's, but it rolled smoothly off her tongue like smoke, and Meryl knew it would hypnotize almost any listener. _No wonder Bryan was acting oddly._ Elizabeth continued, in that same silky voice, "I am the chief engineer of the Marius Bresken Kantacle Technical Industrial Union work dispatch team."

She gave a little curtsy and held her hand out to Meryl as though she expected her to kiss it, too.

Unimpressed, and a little bit wary, Meryl gave the woman a curt nod instead, acknowledging her with a clipped, "Ma'am." Elizabeth's smile never wavered, but Meryl thought she could see the other woman's eyes narrow slightly.

_Ha._

"I should like to inspect the state of your plant right away," Elizabeth stated, turning her attention back to Bryan and the slack-jawed Chairman. "If you would escort me?" Bryan graciously offered her his arm and she took it, resting her hand on his elbow. "Thank you," said Elizabeth, nodding her head demurely. She didn't spare Meryl or Milly (or the Chairman) another glance as she followed Bryan up a side street leading to the plant. Meryl thought he might be trying to take a path that would reveal the least possible amount of damage the town had sustained over the last few days.

A part of Meryl still wanted to follow, to satisfy her own curiosity about the plant, but Elizabeth's standoffish, haughty nature made the prospect less appealing and she reluctantly decided against it.

Milly spoke up suddenly, once Bryan and Elizabeth were well out of hearing distance.

"Did she seem a little…_wrong_, to you?" she asked Meryl, frowning at the woman's retreating back.

"Yes!" Meryl jumped at the chance to share her own strange impressions of the other woman.

"She _looked_ wrong," Milly went on. "Almost _too_ beautiful. Like the dress was _too _well tailored, and her makeup is _too_ well done, and the perfection becomes a flaw in itself." Meryl began to explain that the woman's image wasn't really what she was talking about but Milly kept talking, cutting Meryl short. "And it's more disturbing than just that, the wrongness," Milly said. "When she speaks, everything about her just seems _false._ It puts me on edge. Does that make any sense?"

"Yes," Meryl assured her, quickly. "_Exactly_." Milly had described precisely what Meryl was feeling, and had probably done it more eloquently than she herself would have managed.

"What do we do?" Milly asked.

"Nothing," said Meryl. "It's not any of our business. She's just here to fix the plant, and once that's done we'll probably never see her again. Hopefully," she added, darkly. Meryl turned to look up at the steamer, squinting against the suns' glare on its metal hull, and sighed. She wondered if she could talk someone into letting her on board to have a look around. For old-times' sake.

_Maybe ask a steward for a tour? And slip away while he's not looking…_

Behind her, the open-air market was making a roaring trade by now. All the passengers had been unloaded from the steamer and the visiting merchants had set up their own shops in vacant market stalls, laying out their wares. The barkers were trying to tempt customers to their stalls and the air was full of shouted prices and promises of quality.

Milly was looking around in wonder, wearing a delighted smile.

"I suppose we should look for Vash," said Meryl, absently. It _was _their job, after all. Now that they'd finally found Vash, they were supposed to keep track of him for the company. She wasn't terribly concerned with knowing his whereabouts at all hours of the day, but she thought she should probably make sure he was at least staying out of trouble. Because she'd have to do something about it, if he wasn't.

Meryl looked around, dismayed by the huge number of people packed into the marketplace. It would be nearly impossible to find him if he was in this mess…

"At least keep an eye out for him," Meryl told Milly, scanning the crowd half-heartedly for Vash's brilliantly red jacket.

"Yes, Ma'am," Milly agreed, vaguely, wandering toward a stall that smelled deliciously of freshly baked bread and pastries. Meryl smiled to herself and decided that finding Vash wasn't _that_ important right now. She followed Milly, and the pair bought and shared a sticky bun the size of Meryl's head.

For the rest of the afternoon, they wandered the market, looking for nothing in particular. Meryl bought herself a new pair of Thomas-hide riding gloves and later, after a great deal of indecisiveness, another bottle of expensive scented shampoo (she was nearly out). The woman selling the soaps and perfumes commented on how much she liked Meryl's hair cut short like it was. Unaccustomed to compliments on her appearance, Meryl was too embarrassed to reply but Milly just patted her on the head and thanked the woman for her.

Once while Meryl stopped to look at a beautiful pair of earrings and matching necklace, which must cost twice her yearly salary, she realized she'd lost track of Milly. Within a few minutes of searching, Meryl was knocked off her feet as she bumped into Milly coming hurriedly around a corner.

"Oh, sorry Ma'am!" said Milly, offering Meryl a hand up. She carried two paper-wrapped parcels under her other arm and Meryl regarded them curiously, but Milly just smiled mischievously and refused to tell her what they were.

Night came early in this part of the desert, and it wasn't too long before shopkeepers were hanging lanterns from the awnings of their stalls. As if this was some unspoken invitation, all the buskers appeared on the corners, each jockeying for a good position and trying to draw in a crowd. Milly got thoroughly over-excited at the prospect of a whole market full of street performers, and Meryl let the younger woman lead her through the throng, searching out singers, poets, acrobats, and even finding a pair of remarkably talented jugglers.

They stopped longest to watch a comedy duo that did a mix of old vaudeville and slapstick, which had Milly laughing herself to tears.

"Oh, my brothers would have loved this," she said, between small fits of giggles. Milly wiped watering eyes on her long sleeve and applauded with the rest of the audience as the two men took their bows. Milly moved on to the next corner, where a man with white facepaint appeared to be acting out silent scenes in mid-air, without the aid of any props or even other cast-members.

But Meryl didn't follow Milly; she had just caught the sound of a saxophone, playing a haunting melody that seemed to cut through the overwhelming noise of the market and reach her from a great distance. She turned on the spot, trying to figure out where it was coming from.

The tune was almost achingly familiar, but Meryl couldn't quite remember _why_. The lyrics were just on the tip of her tongue, somewhere at the back of her mind, but she couldn't recall them despite her best efforts.

She finally spotted the musician through a momentary thinning of the crowd before her, standing in a darkened corner at the unused end of the market stalls. He was half-hidden in shadow, but a sliver of light from the nearest lantern reflected on the gleaming metal surface of his saxophone's bell. His dark suit and sleek black hair helped him blend into the night as his fingers moved effortlessly over the keys, coaxing the melody from his instrument like water from a fountain. Meryl broke into a run, trying to navigate her way across the busy main thoroughfare of the market. She wanted to ask the man about the piece he played—it was so frustrating, to just barely remember…

By the time she had maneuvered herself through the crowd, the man was gone. The lilting strains of the song still echoed faintly in her ears, but Meryl could find no trace of the musician.

"Ma'am?"

Meryl turned to see Milly, head and shoulders above the people around her, searching for her partner. Turning reluctantly from the place where she had last seen the saxophone player, Meryl jogged back to the heart of the market, hailing Milly as she came. Milly spotted Meryl and gestured her over, looking excited.

"What is it?" Meryl asked. When Milly pointed, Meryl saw Elizabeth cutting a wide swath as she walked through the market; the crowd seemed to part in front of each footstep, allowing the woman to move freely through otherwise cramped areas. Meryl scowled. "She's not our problem," she muttered to Milly. "Remember? Let's just avoid—"

Then Meryl finally saw what was following along in Elizabeth's wake, practically bouncing in excitement. Vash was wearing a sillier grin than Meryl had ever seen, and the rapturous expression every man seemed to wear around Elizabeth was taken to a horrifying extreme on the Idiot's face, his doe-eyes open wider than Meryl would have thought physically possible.

"Oh," Meryl moaned. "_No…_"

Elizabeth had very abruptly become Meryl's problem.


	29. Episode 6, Lost July, Part 2

Meryl quickly rubbed out an oncoming ache in her forehead as Elizabeth, with Vash in tow, approached where she and Milly stood. For a split-second Meryl contemplated just ducking behind the nearest market stall and running like hell to avoid meeting them, but Milly was already waving at Vash. Meryl resigned herself to a conversation.

"Hello, Mr. Vash!" Milly said brightly. Her smile held fast when she turned it on Elizabeth as well, but Meryl knew it had lost its true warmth. "Miss Elizabeth," added Milly, nodding.

"I'm sorry, my dear," Elizabeth told Milly kindly, in that smooth low voice. "I never did catch your name."

"Milly Thompson." Unusually, Milly didn't add any _pleased to meet you_ or _how are you?_ Her smile was still bright, but Meryl thought she could see an edge to Milly's expression; something different, something distrustful.

Elizabeth turned her gaze towards Meryl, exaggerating how much she needed to bend down to meet Meryl's eye. She regarded Meryl with polite curiosity. "And yours?" she asked.

"Meryl Stryfe," said Meryl, equally politely. She smiled, but didn't bother trying to force too much sincerity into it. Elizabeth, on the other hand, practically beamed now and spoke with false enthusiasm, saying, "Meryl? How quaint!"

Meryl's smile tightened as she gritted her teeth and tried not to glare at the woman.

"You don't meet many Meryls these days," Elizabeth continued, sagely. Then she pursed her lips and spoke condescendingly as if to a child, cooing, "Do you, Poochi."

For a moment Meryl actually thought Elizabeth was addressing her, and she was seconds away from leaping for the woman's throat. Meryl felt Milly seize the back of her collar and twist it over in her grip. It almost strangled Meryl, but it effectively kept her in place for the few moments' time it took for Vash to appear at Elizabeth's shoulder and bark, "Yes, Ma'am!"

Elizabeth turned a devilishly smooth smile on Vash and he practically shivered in delight as she reached up to stroke his long nose with one silk-gloved finger.

"Who's my good little guard-doggie?" asked Elizabeth, still in that patronizing voice that made Meryl's teeth grind together.

"I am!" Vash squeaked, absolutely beside himself with joy.

"_Guard dog?_" hissed Meryl, trying hard to keep from screeching the words at an ear-splitting pitch. She was glad Milly hadn't released her collar yet.

"Well, of course!" said Elizabeth, giving an airy laugh. "Vash is my bodyguard!"

"Bodyguard?" asked Milly, her voice abnormally sharp. Meryl actually glanced up at her partner in surprise and Milly's entire countenance shifted back to her usual kindness in an instant. "Why would you need a bodyguard, Miss Elizabeth?" she asked, curiously.

Elizabeth tapped two fingers against her temple. "To protect _this,_" she said. "The plants are lost technology, and I'm one of the last who has any knowledge of their workings."

"And how is that, exactly?" Meryl demanded, unable to throw on the same neutral façade as easily as Milly had. She gave a small gurgled cough as Milly twisted her collar a little further. "Miss Elizabeth," she added, weakly.

Elizabeth's light tone changed slightly to something more ominous. Her gaze went suddenly sharp behind that sweet smile. "That's precious information, my dear," she told Meryl, her low voice now almost menacing. Then that charming persona reappeared as she said, "Thankfully, I have Vash here to keep me safe."

"Safe from _what?_" asked Milly, finally losing her patience entirely. The fact that Elizabeth could affect Milly like this made Meryl certain—more certain than anything else could—that the woman was hiding something.

Elizabeth seemed to have lost interest in the conversation, or had rightly inferred that Meryl and Milly were no longer even pretending to be fooled, and she ignored the question entirely.

"Come along, Poochi," she said, beckoning to Vash.

"Yes, Ma'am!" he yipped, trotting along happily at Elizabeth's heels as she glided away. Meryl and Milly said nothing as the pair disappeared into the market's crowded thoroughfare, but Milly's face was set in a stubborn frown.

"I don't like her," she said, definitively. She finally let go of Meryl's collar and Meryl straightened the rumpled fabric of her cloak and tunic where it encircled her neck, coughing a few times to clear her half-crushed windpipe.

"I _really_ don't like her," Meryl growled her agreement, clenching her fists tight at her sides.

As far as Meryl was concerned, the evening was ruined. She looked around at the market and at the street performers that had so intrigued her just a few minutes ago, and was both saddened and angry at Elizabeth that she could no longer enjoy herself. Now all Meryl could think about were the myriad different ways Vash could be getting himself in trouble with that wretched woman.

Milly seemed to have no trouble in _not_ dwelling on the preceding conversation and recaptured her usual, unswervingly serene nature within just a few minutes.

"Look, there's another juggler!" she called excitedly, already moving through the crowd toward the performer. Meryl couldn't bring herself to follow immediately and Milly looked back over her shoulder, wearing a puzzled expression. "Aren't you coming, Ma'am?"

"No, I think I'll just go back to the hotel," Meryl replied, trying not to sound as miserable as she felt. "Maybe I'll turn in early tonight." Her brain was just a Worst-Case-Scenario engine now, inventing a broad spectrum of possible accidents or explosions—god, Vash was going to be at the_ plant_, if he was to continue following Elizabeth around. She was getting anxious just _thinking_ about it.

Meryl caught sight of Milly's worried frown and she hurried to give her partner a reassuring smile. "It's alright, Milly," she said, making an effort to make it convincing. "You should stay. Have fun!"

Milly seemed torn, concerned at Meryl's strange shift in mood but clearly eager to stay and wander the market further. She hesitated a moment longer before saying, "If you're sure…"

"Go on," Meryl urged, nodding. Milly beamed at her and waved as she moved away into the crowd, calling, "Good-night, Ma'am!"

Meryl waved back and held the smile until Milly turned away, then felt it slide off her face to be replaced by a grim expression, her lips pressed together in a thin line. She tried hard not to hunch her shoulders as she slunk away in the opposite direction. The straightest route back to the hotel led Meryl past the empty market stalls where she thought she had seen the saxophone player earlier and she looked hopefully into the shadows again, though no mysterious musician appeared there to tell her the name of that song…

The saloon was nearly as busy as the market and Meryl had to squeeze her way through a maze of crowded tables and the tray-bearing waitresses weaving between them. The old woman usually behind the bar was bussing tables now, making room for new customers as soon as anyone paid their tab and left, and she nearly bowled Meryl over once while carrying an impressive number of drained glass tankards in each hand.

It took almost three minutes just to get across the room to the stairs and Meryl was so glad to grab hold of the banister and haul herself up that she took a moment to catch her breath before continuing.

At the third floor landing, Meryl was surprised to see Vash and Elizabeth standing further along the hall, presumably in front of Elizabeth's room. For some reason Meryl found herself unreasonably annoyed to see Vash practically pressing Elizabeth back into the door as they whispered to each other under cover of the woman's wide-brimmed hat.

Meryl scowled and turned the corner, taking the last flight of stairs leading up to her room. At the last minute, she gave one final glance over her shoulder, just in time to see Elizabeth's door slam shut in Vash's face as he tried to enter the room after her. Startled, Meryl paused on the first step, her hand barely alighted on the banister.

Vash bounced off the door, giving a grunt of surprise as he stumbled backwards. For a moment he just stood there outside Elizabeth's room, staring in dismay at the closed door. Then, heaving a great sigh, Vash turned toward the stairs, frowning sulkily and rubbing the end of his pointed nose with one hand. He caught sight of Meryl and froze, and for a split-second they stared at each other in surprise.

Embarrassed to be discovered spying, Meryl darted out of sight up the stairs and hurried to her own room, locking the door behind her as quickly as possible. She stood still for a moment, listening for any footsteps coming down the hall to Vash's door, but aside from faint saloon-noise coming up through the floorboards everything was silent. Meryl sighed, and then looked around her empty room.

It wasn't often she had time to herself (she usually shared a room with Milly, and the younger woman was more fond of chatter than of silence), and now that Meryl was presented with the opportunity, she knew exactly what she wanted to do.

She undid the clasp of her cloak and draped the garment over the back of her chair as she walked across the room to her suitcase. Rummaging around the bottom, pushing leggings and blouses aside, Meryl pulled out a blocky item, wrapped in several thick layers of soft felt. Unfolding the fabric revealed a pair of heavy, battered, leather bound books.

Meryl carried only two books with her in her travels, and they were actually two copies of the same novel, entitled _David Copperfield_. They were even the same edition. One copy she had inherited and the other she had found by chance at a bookseller's, in a market much like the one still carrying on across town.

The bookseller didn't seem to have known the book's value; he sold it to Meryl for a measly $$15 when, as an Old Earth artifact (the publication date inside the front cover was in a system of measurement Meryl didn't even recognize), it could have been worth thousands, maybe more.

But Meryl would never think of selling it.

She treated the books as carefully as though they might crumble to dust in her hands; they were extremely fragile, practically falling apart. In the past, people had clearly tried to the fix broken spines with thick tape or some kind of sticky paste, but the cracked leather covers were peeling away and the corners were blunted from age and everyday handling.

And one was 11oz lighter than the other.

Meryl didn't need to pick them up to know which was which, but the one she chose now was the heavier, and Meryl carried it with her across the room and sat down on the bed with her back to the wall. Carefully, she unknotted the string she used to bind the book closed for travel and the covers fell open to a page marked with a worn white ribbon.

Removing the ribbon, Meryl let the book rest on her lap and smoothed the pages flat. It took her a while to find where she had last left the story (she made slow progress, reading as infrequently as she did), but after a few moments scanning the page, her finger tracing each line of text as she looked for something familiar, Meryl recognized a passage she had read before.

She flipped back a page or two to remember where she was in the narrative, and began reading.

Of course, Meryl didn't know most of the references made to people or places, and she couldn't understand the lost technology described, but she loved the odd language and the words in how the characters thought and spoke. She was baffled more often than not by the setting, but in the end it was just a story about living a hard life, and _that_ story transcends centuries. Transcends worlds.

After awhile, Meryl heard footsteps in the hall and she glanced up from her reading. The footsteps stopped practically outside her room, and after a few moments Meryl heard Vash's door open and close. Waiting to hear anything else—though what she was expecting, she didn't really know—Meryl let the book fall momentarily closed. Vash seemed to be moving around the room and at one point Meryl thought she could hear furniture scraping across the floor (she frowned at this, puzzled), but it eventually quieted and Meryl went back to her book.

But now she was distracted, and she wasn't really taking in the words on the pages in front of her. She had started thinking about Vash, and about the plant, and about any number of things that could go wrong. And mostly Meryl thought about Elizabeth, and how much she disliked the woman. How little she trusted her. How _wrong_ the whole situation felt.

The book snapped shut a little harder then Meryl would usually let it, and she put it aside. Elizabeth was trouble, she knew it. But Vash didn't, or at least that _Idiot_ didn't. Meryl wanted to warn him about the woman, about the _wrongness_ she and Milly both felt. She wanted to tell him to be careful, wanted to hell him not to trust Elizabeth, she wanted to stop him making a catastrophic mistake—but she wasn't sure how.

She stood and began pacing the length of the room, back and forth.

Meryl wanted to warn _the man in red_, not the Idiot. She wanted to talk to that man who had always resolved the impossible dilemmas they faced together, not the googly-eyed skirt-chasing moron she'd met again in the market. But she didn't know how to find one instead of the other when dealing with Vash, and it was maddeningly frustrating.

When she suddenly tasted blood Meryl realized she had bitten her thumbnail down to the quick and she forced her hands down to her sides, where they ended up clutching at the hem of her tunic as she walked stiffly across squeaking floorboards.

Finally Meryl decided she was going to talk to him, one way or the other. She left her room with a decisive stride, though it took only three steps to reach Vash's door.

She reached up to knock, but the door opened suddenly and Meryl nearly collided with a pair of—hm—_professional_ women. Realizing she stood face-to-bust with the first woman, a leggy brunette in a long blue gown, Meryl hastily backed up a few paces. The woman looked just as surprised to see Meryl and pulled her long cigarette holder out of the way to avoid poking Meryl in the eye.

The second woman squeaked as she bumped into the brunette, who had stopped abruptly at Meryl's appearance. She peered down over the first woman's shoulder and Meryl saw an identical look of surprise on a face framed by short-cropped locks of red hair.

The brunette seemed puzzled for a moment but then smiled knowingly down at Meryl.

"Don't bother, honey," she whispered, gesturing toward the room behind her with the cigarette holder. "He's out cold."

Shocked by the implication—she would _never!_—Meryl couldn't even muster an argument to the contrary before the two women moved past her down the hall. The redhead pulled the door shut, though she released the handle halfway and let momentum do the rest. Meryl moved quickly to slip inside the room before the door could close behind her. For a moment she waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark. Then she surveyed Vash where he lay in bed, flat on his stomach and snoring loudly.

"It's really too bad," Meryl heard one of the women say as they walked away down the hall. "You don't get the chance to sleep with a guy like that every day…" The other _hmm_ed her agreement.

Vash continued to snore, and Meryl crossed her arms over her chest, leaning against the wall by his bed.

"You big faker," she muttered, prodding Vash in the back with the heel of her boot. He rolled over in an instant, grinning.

"So what if I am?" asked Vash, bright green eyes sparkling up at Meryl. He put his hands behind his head on the pillow and shrugged. Meryl nodded toward the closed door.

"Aren't you passing up a golden opportunity?" She raised her eyebrows as she said, "They couldn't _wait_ to get their hands on the Humanoid Typhoon." _Among other things…_

"They're not my type," Vash told her, with that mischievous twinkle back in his eye.

"What _is _your type?" Meryl asked, the question escaping her mouth without her really thinking about it.

"Wouldn't _you_ like to know," said Vash. Meryl flushed immediately; it was that _other_ voice, and those _other_ eyes looking at her now, and she could hardly breathe as he gave her an oddly sultry little half-smile. Suddenly the room was over-warm and she just wanted to beat a hasty retreat and run for the door.

"Why are you here, anyway?" Vash asked suddenly, and the spell holding Meryl paralyzed was broken. "Sneaking around, kicking people in the back. It's very rude," he told her, his lower lip jutting out in an impressive pout.

"Oh please," Meryl said, going from flustered to annoyed in an instant. "I just came to warn you."

"Of what?" Vash asked, his voice again more serious than it had been a moment ago. Meryl could see, now, that his eyes had that grave expression she had seen so many times before. And she was relieved; _this_ was the man in red.

"She's hiding something," said Meryl. "That woman can't be trusted."

When Vash didn't bother asking her to specify _which_ woman, Meryl knew he understood. For a moment he held her in that serious gaze, and then abruptly he was smiling up at her again.

"We'll see," he said, grinning.

"_What?_" hissed Meryl. She stared at him in disbelief and Vash just shrugged again. Meryl spoke again, trying to make him see reason. "Need I remind you what happened the _last _time you took a bodyguarding job?" Meryl shuddered, vividly remembering the cold of the water soaking in through her clothes, how scared she'd been, how tightly she'd gripped Vash around the chest… She blinked and she was back in Vash's room, staring down at his infuriating Idiot-grin. "It nearly killed the both of us!" she shouted.

"Ah! But it _didn't_," he pointed out, holding up one finger as though he was actually arguing this as a point toward the merit of his current plan—whatever the hell _that_ was. Meryl gritted her teeth and tried not to scream at the top of her lungs.

"Fine," Meryl growled. Her hands were clenched into fists at her sides. "_Fine_," she said again. Then she bent down to jab a finger, hard, into the middle of Vash's chest. "This time…if anything goes wrong? I _will_ let you drown."

For a moment Vash looked surprised, but then he laughed out loud; one of his good, honest laughs that rang out to fill the room. His eyes sparkled up at her now as he have her a wide, genuine smile and said, again, "We'll see."

Thrown off-balance by his laughter and puzzled again by that cryptic remark, Meryl left the room and slammed the door behind her. She thought she could hear Vash still chuckling, and she returned to her own room even more frustrated than she had been when she'd left it. Growling, Meryl looked around for something to distract her.

Seeing _David Copperfield_ still sitting on her unmade bed, Meryl sat down again and took up her reading, trying to tell herself she had done all she could in talking to Vash. She kicked off her boots (which was a testament to her anger; normally she'd take more care in their removal) and lay down on her side. She knew it was a bad idea, knew she'd fall asleep before making any real progress in the book, but it was so comfortable…

Something struck the wall near her head and Meryl woke, confused. She had fallen asleep (as predicted) with the book open on her chest and now she sat up groggily, wondering what was going on. Now there was the sound of something heavy falling to the floor, and Meryl realized the noises were coming from the _other_ side of the wall, from the other room—from Vash's room.

She scowled. What could that Idiot be _doing_ over there?

Meryl sat up angrily, setting her book aside again and preparing to stand, planning to go next door and threaten to beat the shit out of Vash if he didn't quiet down. Just as Meryl leaned down to pull her boots on again, a wicked-looking curved blade nearly as long as her arm suddenly sprouted out through the wall, just where her head had been moments ago. Meryl shrieked wordlessly in alarm, throwing herself flat to the floor and scrambling away as quickly as she could. The blade was withdrawn again and the loud thumping sounds—of what she now realized was a fight—continued in the other room.

Meryl grabbed two derringers from where her cloak hung over the chair and hurried out to the hall. When she tried the knob on Vash's door and found it locked, she hesitated. From within the room came the sound of metal on metal, two blades meeting with shearing force, and Meryl was decided. She used both bullets of one derringer to splinter the ancient wood door frame surrounding the lock, then shouldered her way through as she discarded the empty pistol.

It was confusing, what Meryl saw next.

The man facing Vash wore a dark blue body suit, and there were _blades _attached to the suit's arms and legs, almost like short swords strapped to each forearm and shin. Razor-sharp and sickle-shaped, it was easy to see that it was one of the arm-blades that had nearly skewered Meryl moments earlier.

Now the man's long hair was whipping around his masked face as he took rapid swipes at Vash, who was just dancing out of range. Vash hadn't even drawn his revolver yet, Meryl saw. Though with a shock she noticed that the double-edged blade hidden in his boot had been triggered—and cut cleanly in half.

Both men turned at Meryl's entrance, and Vash certainly looked surprised. Meryl couldn't see the attacker's face through his mask but she could only guess that his expression would be similar.

"Stop there!" Meryl ordered, aiming the second derringer solidly at the stranger. The masked man just rushed her, crossing the room quickly and raising one bladed forearm as he attacked. Something else moved swiftly in the very edge of her peripheral vision but Meryl stood her ground and fired once at her oncoming attacker.

But the man _blocked the bullet_ with the blade of his left arm, sending it ricocheting across the room to shatter the glass mirror by the door.

_What the fuck?_

Meryl gaped at the man in disbelief, too stunned to fire again or even to move out of his path as he still ran toward her, ready to bring that curved blade down slicing across her body. There was another gunshot and another ricochet and then Vash was there between them, pulling Meryl backwards and out of the way. Meryl saw the flash of light on the blade's razor-edge as it came down on Vash, but didn't know if it struck him or not. She fired almost blindly from behind Vash, unable to see much of anything under his long arms.

This time she heard the bullet hit flesh, and the stranger gave a sharp grunt in pain. Meryl pushed Vash out of her way, just in time to see the masked man jump out the shattered window and disappear into the night. She ran to the window and looked out, but the man was gone. Then she turned to Vash, _furious_, in a strange mix of both anger and almost terrified concern.

"Idiot!" she said, hurrying toward where Vash had fallen. "I was _fine,_" Meryl hissed, wondering in the back of her mind if it was true. He was standing and she grabbed him under one arm to help steady him. "You could have been killed! Are you hurt?" she demanded.

But Vash ignored her.

"Did he _cut my jacket?_" he squeaked, horrified. Vash was shaking Meryl off his arm, frantically trying to look over his own shoulder to see any potential damage done to the back of the brilliantly red duster.

Meryl gritted her teeth, but inwardly she was relieved. Too many times Vash had stood between her and danger, and she was afraid that eventually they would face a situation where only one of them would walk away—and by now she knew which one of them it would be.

Vash was still doing awkward pirouettes, trying to see the back of his jacket, and Meryl walked to where the mirror lay in splinters on the floor. She couldn't believe the man had _blocked her bullet_ with a blade…

A small object on the floor suddenly caught Meryl's attention.

_Shitshitshitshit—_

Adrenaline surged through Meryl's veins as she turned, taking two running steps before launching herself at Vash. She tackled him backwards into the bathtub along the wall, but he was too tall to fit and his head knocked into the porcelain as Meryl fell heavily onto his chest.

"_Ow!_" Vash hissed, looking up at her incredulously. "What the—"

His next words were drowned out by an explosion that made the air throb around them, pressing in on Meryl's ears in waves even as it shook the whole world around them. Her eyes were shut tight against the brilliant flash of light but it still burned through her eyelids and she winced as the bathtub was thrown sideways, skidding roughly across the uneven floor.

The overhead lamp had shattered and was raining glass down on them, and Meryl felt Vash wrap his arms up to cover her head and shoulders. Then Meryl was thrown from Vash's grasp as the tub struck something with a deafening _crunch_ of splintering wood. The tub tipped suddenly sideways and Meryl rolled out—into nothing.

Her stomach lurched as everything disappeared around her, and she screamed as she fell.


	30. Episode 6, Lost July, Part 3

Meryl screamed as she fell and she flung her hands out wide in hopes of finding something to grab hold of. The bright flash of the explosion had half-blinded her and she could barely tell which way was up—but almost immediately she managed to catch one hand on something. Her descent stopped abruptly and she gave a yelp of pain as the sudden stop nearly wrenched her arm out of its socket.

Strangely, Meryl thought for a moment that something had grabbed _her._ She could swear her hand was empty but her wrist felt like it was clamped in a vise. Vision returned to Meryl in a matter of moments, her eyes adjusting to the dim moonlight, and suddenly she was looking out at open desert sand and fifteen yarz of empty space between her toes and the ground. She screamed again and flung her left hand up to meet the other. For an instant her fingers wrapped around something as solid and unyielding as cast-iron, but then she was looking for something else to support her weight.

Her hand met the rough wood siding of the inn's outer walls and Meryl dug her fingers under one of the boards that had warped and bowed outward with age. Her stocking feet were sliding against the side of the building as she tried desperately to push herself up, hoping her toes would catch on something she could stand on.

And something was still gripping Meryl's right wrist—and it was _pulling her up._ Her tenuous hold on the warped siding was yanked free as she was hauled skyward and Meryl squeaked, reaching up higher for something, anything, to hold on to. The side of the building abruptly gave way to empty space again and Meryl's palm slapped down on a level surface. She used the new leverage to pull herself up until her elbow rested on the ledge, then even managed to throw her leg up over onto the same surface. With a gargantuan effort Meryl dragged the rest of her body up as well.

And then somehow she was falling again, rolling the _other_ direction, and she hit the ground four-stories below in just an instant, crushing all the air from her lungs.

But she was alive, and she wasn't quite sure how. Meryl gasped for breath and her chest was heaving against strangely warm and solid sand.

"Hey—hey—"

Meryl heard the words, somewhere, but she couldn't really listen. She was still just trying to breathe properly and figure out how the _hell_ she wasn't just splattered all over the sands in front of the saloon.

"Hey, look at me—_look at me!_"

Hands touched her face, pushed hair out of her eyes, and very suddenly Meryl found herself staring down into fierce green eyes as she lay flat on Vash's chest. He was looking up at her from just iches away, holding her face firmly between his gloved hands.

"Hey," Vash said again, more quietly. His thumb swept gently over her cheek and his gaze softened now as he saw recognition in her eyes. "It's okay, you're okay now." He gave Meryl a small, genuine smile as she began to calm again.

It took her a while to make sense of what had happened, and Vash seemed patient enough to let her. She was back in the bathtub, back in that room on the fourth floor, and her heart was still racing. He had _caught _her. It was the only explanation; that had been his grip on her wrist, hauling her back up into the room. It was _impossible_—but then again, things with Vash so often were.

Breath still came quick and shallow and she had to close her eyes and make an effort to force a long, deep breath. She let it out as slowly as she could, and when she opened her eyes again she felt considerably calmer.

Vash was still touching her face.

His gloved hands were warm on her skin and his thumb brushed over her cheek again as he looked up at her. He wore an expression now that Meryl couldn't quite read, and something in his eyes was making her heart beat too quickly again. She should have been freezing from the cold desert air seeping into the room, but she was practically burning up and was sure Vash would be able to feel it.

"Are you alright?" she blurted.

"Wha—" That unreadable expression was gone as Vash's eyebrows rocketed up, incredulous. "Am _I _alright?"

"Vash?" someone called out.

Vash sat up suddenly and carried Meryl with him, his hands on her shoulders. Meryl glanced sideways and realized the bathtub was perched precariously at the outer edge of the ruined floor, one of its clawed feet only iches away from splintered wood and open space. She sucked in a sharp breath and seized handfuls of Vash's jacket reflexively, just to have something to hold on to.

When Meryl turned toward the interior of the building, light from the hall was spilling into what was left of the room and she could just see Elizabeth standing at the open door, peering in with her eyebrows raised. Vash glanced back to Meryl for an instant, his eyes wide.

"It's not what it looks like!" he shrieked, shoving Meryl off him as he vaulted over the side of the bathtub and hurried across the room to prostrate himself at Elizabeth's feet. Meryl fell backwards and her skull met the opposite end of the tub with a loud and painful _crack!_

"Shhhhhhiiiiiit," Meryl hissed quietly, teeth clenched tightly against the pain as she pressed both hands over the back of her head and curled forward. "_Oww…_"

"Ma'am?"

Meryl heard Milly's voice from the door, and a moment later she appeared at Meryl's side. One of Milly's strong hands gripped the edge of the tub as she knelt down, and Meryl had the oddest feeling that the rest of the floor could crumble away beneath her and Milly would still be there holding the bathtub in place.

Milly interrupted this train of thought, asking, worriedly, "Are you alright?" Her other hand wrapped around Meryl's bicep and hauled her out of the tub before Meryl's previous theory could be put to the test. "What happened?"

"Bomb," Meryl managed, eyes watering from the stinging pain at the back of her skull. Milly frowned apologetically and smoothed her hand over the bump growing there, which _did_ make Meryl feel a little better. "Somebody broke in," she continued. "Through the _window._"

"And what were _you_ doing here?" Elizabeth interrupted, staring at Meryl with an expression so fierce it looked as though she hoped Meryl might spontaneously combust.

Meryl glared back at her and snarled, "None of your _goddamn—_"

"_Nothing!_" shrieked Vash, his shrill voice cutting across Meryl's words. He was still on his knees at Elizabeth's feet, now clutching desperately at her skirts, begging forgiveness. "Nothing, I _swear!_"

"Oh, Poochi," sighed Elizabeth resignedly, suddenly wearing one of her small, patronizing smiles as she looked down at Vash. "What am I to do with you?" The change in her demeanor—from fury to this parody of tenderness, in just an instant—was so startling that Meryl almost forgot her anger. "Come along, then," Elizabeth said, and she laughed as Vash followed her out on all fours.

Meryl felt her eye twitch once as she watched them disappear around the corner. She could hear Elizabeth still cooing to Vash. "It's a good thing I switched our names in the hotel registry," she was saying.

"_What?_" Meryl screeched, leaping to her feet and racing out into the hall. Suddenly dizzy, she gripped the splintered door frame to keep herself upright. Milly was there a moment later, putting a steadying hand on Meryl's shoulder. Elizabeth turned around to face them, but by now people were opening their doors along the hall, all in dressing gowns and pajamas, all half-exhausted and half-terrified, all talking loudly and at once.

"What's going on?"

"We're trying to sleep, here!"

"Was that a bomb?"

"My god, are the Nebraskas back?"

"There's a huge crack in my wall!"

"You switched the names?" Meryl had to scream at Elizabeth just to be heard.

"_SHUT IT, THE LOT OF YOU!_"

Every man, woman and child present jumped nearly half a foot in the air. At the end of the hall, a figure was taking shape in the darkness and for a moment Meryl couldn't be sure _what_ it was. A bulky shape was lumbering into the light, something with a larger head than Meryl had ever seen on a man, with a very pale face and sunken eyes. Its gait was slow, shuffling even, across the uneven carpet, and Meryl tensed as the figure moved into the light.

Meryl felt very foolish. It was the woman innkeeper; the large head Meryl had seen was just the old woman's giant hair curlers, and the eyes were dark circles under a thick facial cream mask. She wore plaid pajamas under a terry-cloth robe, and—Meryl almost snorted in laughter as she glanced down—oversized bunny slippers.

"What in the _hell_ is going on here?" she demanded.

Everyone started talking at once, though Meryl and Milly stepped forward first and tried to catch the woman's attention.

"There was an attack—"

"Don't _you_ know?"

"You should be telling _us_ what's going on!"

"Is it the Nebraskas?"

"Who's going to do something about my wall?"

"Enough," said the innkeeper, waving her hands. "Enough, enough, _enough!_" She ended up shouting and everyone fell silent again. The woman came forward and Meryl and Milly hurriedly stepped out of her way as she peered around the doorframe and into the remains of Vash's room. Meryl watched the innkeeper's eyes harden as her mouth set in a thin line, her lips pressed tight together.

The woman spun around again and now everyone took a step back as she glanced around at the gathering crowd with a murderous glare. She spotted Vash, still kneeling, attached to Elizabeth's side.

"_You!_" she shouted. Vash recoiled. "This is—_was_—your room." She pointed in at the room, her words clipped as she growled out, simply, "Explain. _Now_." Vash looked too terrified to breathe, much less give an accurate account of what had happened. He clutched at Elizabeth's leg, and the innkeeper glanced up at the other woman. "He's yours, isn't he? What happened?"

Elizabeth tried to push Vash away but he clung to her, so she kicked until he let go. "He's not _mine,_" Elizabeth said, as though the idea disgusted her. Vash let out a whimper and slid to the floor in an awkward, gangly heap. "How should I know what happened?" Elizabeth scoffed. "An explosion, _obviously._"

"Don't you sass me, Miss-Fancy-Pants," snapped the innkeeper, stepping menacingly toward Elizabeth. The other woman looked both affronted and alarmed, and took a step backward. "Everybody else here pays same as you for a good night's sleep, _your Highness_, so shut your mouth 'fore I shut it for you." Meryl was delighted to see Elizabeth going bright red and almost inflating in her fury. "And you two!" shouted the innkeeper, making Meryl jump as her finger swung around to point at her and Milly now.

"_Us?_" squeaked Milly.

"You're from the insurance company," said the woman. It was more an accusation than a question, really.

"Yes, Ma'am!" Milly squeaked again.

"Good," the innkeeper grunted. "Tomorrow morning, you and I are going to have a nice long chat about the state of my inn," she said, ominously. Milly's hand was clutching spasmodically at Meryl's shoulder in terror.

"Yes, Ma'am!" squeaked Milly, this time at so high a pitch it was almost inaudible.

The woman grunted again. She gave Elizabeth another glare and spun on her heel, returning in the direction from which she had come.

"_GET BACK TO SLEEP, THE LOT OF YOU!_"

Every door down the hall slammed shut almost simultaneously, and the woman muttered under her breath as she shuffled away. Only Meryl, Milly, Vash and Elizabeth remained. Meryl glanced from Vash, where he lay sniffling quietly on the floor, to Elizabeth, who was grimacing as she smoothed her hands over the fabric of her dress as if she was trying to brush off whatever Vash-residue might be left on her skirts.

Meryl gritted her teeth and breathed slowly through her nose. "You switched the names," she growled.

"It seemed prudent," said Elizabeth, unabashedly. She was cool and aloof again, and addressed Meryl without even flinching at the death-glare Meryl gave her.

_The nerve…_

"Prudent," repeated Meryl.

"Of course," Elizabeth said, as though she was pointing out the painfully obvious. "If someone were to attack me, it would be my bodyguard's job to protect me. How better to do so?"

"It's not his job to be your _decoy,_" Meryl fumed.

"It's not _your _job to define the terms of _his_ job!" hissed Elizabeth, advancing on Meryl.

"Actually?" said Meryl, stepping so close to the other woman now that she was craning her neck almost painfully. "That's _exactly—_"

"That's enough."

Meryl and Elizabeth each gave a squeak of surprise and glanced back at Milly. The younger woman's face was set in a solemn expression and she fixed them both with the same look, something _powerful_. An authority Meryl had never seen before.

"Milly…?" she said, hesitantly.

"There's been enough shouting tonight," said Milly. "It's late, and _everyone—_" (with a very pointed look) "—needs to get some sleep."

Meryl wondered if Elizabeth would challenge this bidding. She watched the other woman's eyes narrow as she considered Milly, as though sizing her up. Milly's chin lifted a fraction of an ich, and Elizabeth backed down before even speaking. It was an odd exchange, and Meryl just watched in awe. Elizabeth caught Meryl's eye very briefly before turning her back on them entirely and stalking off.

Milly gave a small, dismissive, _hm_, as Elizabeth turned at the stairs and disappeared without a backward glance. Then she turned to Meryl and smiled her usual, serene Milly-smile. Meryl could only stand there, dumbstruck.

"Good-night, Ma'am," Milly said, nodding to Meryl. Then, "Good-night, Mr. Vash!"

Having forgotten Vash entirely in the midst of that strange interaction between Elizabeth and Milly, Meryl turned to see him slinking away in the opposite direction. At Milly's words, Vash gave a vague wave over his shoulder without turning.

Meryl didn't have a clue where he might be going, and for some reason she didn't want to ask. The whole evening had already been a strange series of experiences with Vash; she'd found the Idiot faking sleep when she sneaked into his room, then dealt with the man in red when she wanted to warn him, and then again during the fight and the explosion. And then in the bathtub, he had been…

Then Elizabeth had showed up and he was the Idiot again, and then _she _had cast him off and now Meryl wasn't sure what kind of Vash she'd be dealing with if she approached him again.

"Good-night, Milly," Meryl said, almost belatedly. The other woman was already closing the door to her room, but she managed a small wave out to Meryl before it shut.

Meryl sighed, and returned to her own room.

Thankfully, it seemed to have sustained no real damage from the explosion. She walked carefully along the wall her room shared with Vash's, trailing her fingers across the wood, searching for any cold air that might be sneaking in through a crack she couldn't see. Satisfied she wouldn't be freezing to death _this_ particular evening, Meryl down heavily at the edge of her bed, letting her head fall into her hands with a sigh.

_It's been a long night…_

She rubbed her forehead and opened her eyes, and was dismayed to see _David Copperfield_ laying on the floor. In pieces.

Its spine had broken again, and for good. The back cover had detached entirely and fifty pages or so out of the middle had come apart from the rest when it fell to the floor—or was flung there—when Meryl hurled herself out of bed to join the fray going on in the next room.

Now exhausted _and_ depressed, Meryl gathered the book together as best she could and tied it shut again. She couldn't afford to think about it now, she was just too damn tired, so she put it aside and dressed for bed.

A few minutes later Meryl was pulling the thin blankets up over her shoulders, shivering in the cold that they couldn't keep out, and for a moment she thought she heard a soft knock on her door. She lifted her ear from the pillow and listened hard in the dark. After a few more beats of silence, Meryl nuzzled her nose into the pillow and rolled over with a sigh.

There it was again—slightly louder.

Meryl made a guttural _grmph_ noise and kicked off the covers, slipping out of bed. As she opened the door, light spilled in from the hall and, dim though it was, she squinted sleepy eyes up at her caller.

"So," said Vash, leaning casually against her doorframe with what he clearly thought was a winning smile.

_Definitely the Idiot._

"Since my room doesn't have a wall anymore, I was thinking—"

Meryl shut the door in his face and stomped back to her bed, falling heavily onto the mattress with another _grmph_ noise, more vehemently this time. She thought she might have heard an "_ow_" and smiled a little to herself. Meryl had actually started feeling sorry for him, after Elizabeth had treated him so poorly, but clearly he was able to bounce back from the spurning. Maybe if he had actually _asked_ her, rather than smarming it up…

Fewer than five minutes later there was another, more purposeful knock on her door and Meryl growled, calling out, "I said, _no!_"

"Ma'am, it's me!" Milly protested. Frowning, Meryl threw off the covers and hurried to the door. Milly stood outside in banana-yellow pajamas, and Meryl's eyes were drawn immediately to the suitcase she held under one arm.

"You didn't," sighed Meryl, wearily.

"Mr. Vash needed a room, seeing as how _his_ got blown up," Milly said, matter-of-factly, coming inside (without invitation, strictly speaking). "I told him he could have mine and I would share with you!" Meryl sighed again and shut the door behind Milly, who had already set her suitcase down next to Meryl's. The younger woman practically jumped into the bed, and Meryl followed her, too exhausted to complain that Milly was sleeping on the side _she_ usually took…

Even with Milly's snoring, it didn't take long for Meryl to fall asleep. The next time someone knocked on their door, Meryl was pretty sure it was a dream and didn't bother trying to answer it. But the knocking persisted, becoming louder and louder until Meryl finally, reluctantly, opened her eyes. Milly was still asleep, and there was early morning sunlight creeping across the floor.

Meryl yawned so widely her jaw ached and she rubbed her eyes as she stood up, again reluctantly, and walked to the door.

It was Elizabeth.

"I wish to speak with Vash," she said, though she didn't actually look at Meryl. Her nose was turned up and she seemed to be addressing the air several feet above Meryl's head.

Still tired, and apparently not quite sure what was actually happening, Meryl just blinked slowly a few times. "What," she said, finally.

"Vash," snapped Elizabeth, looking down to catch Meryl's eye. "I need to speak with him. Is he in there?"

"Why would he be _here?_" Meryl demanded, scowling.

"Oh, I don't know," said Elizabeth, wide-eyed, pretending to look puzzled as she tapped a finger to her lips, thinking aloud, "maybe because I found you two _necking in a bathtub—_"

"How _dare_ you!"

Before Meryl had even noticed she was drawing one fist back to strike the other woman, Milly appeared and seized Meryl's arm, dragging her backward into the room and stepping in front of her to speak directly to Elizabeth.

"What do you want?" asked Milly, curtly, still holding Meryl back. It didn't matter; Meryl was frozen. Just as she'd been last night. Milly was _never_ this short with people. Not with _anyone. _Not with _criminals,_ in all their run-ins with trouble.

Milly was taller than Elizabeth, and now the other woman tried to draw herself up higher, nose in the air again as she replied, "My bodyguard. I need Vash to escort me to the plant this morning, for the maintenance."

"I thought he _wasn't_ yours," said Milly, coolly.

Elizabeth's haughty attitude vanished as something inside her seemed to snap at this, violently.

"You listen to me, you little bitch," she hissed, stepping only iches away from Milly's face. Meryl started forward in alarm, seeing Elizabeth's eyes flashing dangerously, her whole face twisted and _wrong_. "I've been planning this for longer than you've even been—"

"Miss Elizabeth!" cried Vash, startling them all. "You've come back!"

All eyes turned to Vash as he sprinted down the hall and fell to his knees at Elizabeth's feet. Elizabeth's beatific smile was instantly back in place as she swept down on him.

"Of course I have, Poochi," she told Vash, sweetly. She kissed his cheek and Vash melted to the floor in a euphoric puddle of blonde hair and red jacket. "Now come along," said Elizabeth, patting her thigh as though she were encouraging a dog to follow her. Vash was up on his feet again in an instant, bouncing after her. In moments they had disappeared around the corner.

Meryl stood frozen in shock. She glanced sideways to Milly, whose eyes were just as wide and alarmed as her own.

"What. The _fuck,_" said Meryl.


	31. Episode 6, Lost July, Part 4

Meryl and Milly stared at each other, wide-eyed.

"What just happened?" asked Milly.

"You two!"

Both of them jumped as someone spoke behind them, and Meryl gave a little gasp of pain as Milly's foot came down unexpectedly on her toes.

"Sorry, Ma'am!" Milly said, desperately. But Meryl was more worried about who had hailed them, and now she turned to see the woman innkeeper at the end of the hall.

"Get over here," the old woman ordered. "I want this business taken care of before I open."

"Yes, Ma'am," agreed Meryl, nodding. "We'll be dressed and ready in ten…" She withered under the glare the woman fixed her with. "Um…five minutes," Meryl finished, sheepishly.

"Fine," said the woman. "I'll be down at the bar. I'll dig up that insurance policy. _Five minutes._" She turned her back on them and Meryl hurriedly pushed Milly back into their room. Five minutes wasn't a lot of time, but she _really_ didn't want to make the old innkeeper wait.

Meryl was digging through her disorganized suitcase, pulling out articles of clothing as she found them. Conversely, Milly had her usual slacks and white button-down shirt out of her suitcase and was dressing in a matter of moments, but she looked worried as she settled the red suspenders over her shoulders.

"Ma'am, we need to follow Elizabeth," said Milly, gravely. "There's something very _wrong_ there. Can we really afford the time to look over the innkeeper's policy?" Meryl finished doing up her blouse (she had skipped a button in her hurry) and pulled on the fitted tunic, securing the clasps over her chest.

"It won't take long," she assured Milly, now combing her hair so fiercely it jerked her head to one side when the teeth caught on a tangle. "_Ow._ The damage was clearly done by—well, _due to—_Vash the Stampede; if she has any one of the standard policies, it's covered. We'll take care of it quickly and then go after her. Them," she amended, thinking of Vash.

By Meryl's count, they were down the stairs in under four minutes, but that didn't stop her practically sprinting for the bar to meet the old woman. She was waiting there for them, and she held up a standard letter-sized envelope when the two younger women arrived.

The envelope was thick, full to bursting, and the paper was yellowed with age. Meryl was almost reluctant to take it from the old woman's hands and, when she opened it, was dismayed to find a document over forty pages long, all faded ink (in fine print, of course) on stiff old parchment paper.

"This is _ancient,_" muttered Meryl, starting to thumb through the crinkled pages in wide-eyed disbelief.

"What was that?" asked the old woman, looking back sharply at Meryl as she walked across the room to open the saloon's doors for business.

"Nothing!" Meryl said, hurriedly. "I mean—it's just—this is a very…_unique_ policy," she managed. "It's going to take longer to verify your claim than I originally expected…"

"Oh no it's not," said the woman, returning to the bar. She began wiping down the chipped lacquering of the bar's wood surface and now she brandished the cleaning rag at Meryl like a weapon. "That's a lifetime guarantee. I spent a fortune on this thirty years ago, and you are going to honor it or so help me—"

"I don't think I've ever seen a lifetime guarantee before," said Milly interestedly, gently interrupting the old woman's tirade before she could elaborate further on that threat. Inwardly, Meryl was relieved. Milly pulled the policy from Meryl's hands and started flipping through it herself. Meryl watched the younger woman's eyes narrow slightly as she paused to look more closely at one page.

Now Meryl fretted, biting the tip of her thumb, calculating the amount of time this would keep them from tracking down Vash and Elizabeth.

"We could always just…take her word for it," she suggested to Milly, keeping her voice low enough that the old woman wouldn't hear her over the sounds of the incoming early crowd.

"Ma'am!" scolded Milly, glancing down at Meryl with a frown. "That would be…" She grimaced momentarily, apparently searching for the right word.

"Easier?" Meryl supplied, hopefully.

"Cheating!"

Meryl couldn't help grinning a little at Milly's chastising expression, along with her posture now—hands on hips in a very motherly, _don't-you-use-that-tone-with-me_ sort of way.

"It won't be that bad," Milly said, straightening the papers again. "We'll split it up, and read through as quickly as we can. And I'll get you some coffee," she added, when she saw Meryl ready to argue. This had the intended effect of shutting Meryl up—_blessed, blessed caffeine—_and Milly passed her the first twenty pages.

Meryl accepted the stack of paper and, as promised, a large cup of coffee appeared at her elbow within the minute. It even _smelled _strong, and Meryl inhaled the aroma in one deep breath and let it out in a contended sigh before taking her first sip. The bitter liquid was hot to the point of scalding, and she held it on her tongue for an extra few moments to relish the flavor before swallowing. Then Meryl began reading her half of the policy.

It didn't take too long to see that the document was painfully repetitive, reiterating the same points again and again with only a slight difference in wording. She found herself newly appreciative of the contemporary Bernadelli policies' conciseness. Even the most detailed policy Meryl had ever previously read, which outlined very specific (and faintly alarming) instances involving livestock, was only six pages long.

After another few minutes, Meryl was surprised to notice that Milly's pages were turning over much more quickly than her own. She frowned and tried to glance sideways surreptitiously, watching Milly from just her peripheral vision, not turning her head. Milly's eyes seemed to scan the page in just a matter of moments before moving on to the next.

Meryl tried to read faster.

After a few more minutes, Milly finished her half of the policy and pulled five pages or so from the bottom of Meryl's stack and began looking them over just as quickly. Bemused, Meryl just watched Milly, who was so focused on her work that she didn't seem to notice the other woman staring. Milly pulled another five pages from the bottom of Meryl's stack, and then another five just a few minutes later.

By then, the saloon was noisy and bustling with townsfolk looking for a good meal and good conversation, and Meryl was easily distracted from her work anyway. She glanced around, hoping to perhaps find Vash and Elizabeth still here at the inn. But the woman would have been impossible to miss (and Vash never blended in particularly well either) and Meryl was forced to conclude that the pair had gone.

Just to be sure, Meryl flagged down the old woman innkeeper again.

"I'm sorry to bother you," Meryl began, "but has that woman—Elizabeth—been through here already this morning?"

"Oh, her?" said the old woman, grunting dismissively. "She and that Idiot left in a hurry, just before you two came down." Meryl sipped her coffee glumly. Who knew _where_ they'd be now. Could she safely assume Elizabeth and Vash had gone to the plant?

"Feh," the woman went on, suddenly scowling. "That woman has been a thorn in my side since she waltzed right in here like she owned the place, looking for the Humanoid Typhoon."

Meryl nearly choked on her coffee.

"Wait—she was _looking_ for him?"

"Asked for him by name," said the old woman, nodding. She gave a snort of laughter. "I don't think he was what she was expecting."

"He never is," Meryl murmured absently, turning this new bit of information over in her mind as the old woman turned away. That meant Elizabeth knew Vash was in Inepril before she'd even arrived. But how? And _why_ in god's name would she let him hang all over her, when she clearly had little regard for him at all? Indeed, what _did_ she actually think of him?

It had been scary, the look on Elizabeth's face, when she snapped at Milly earlier.

_I've been planning this, _she had said…

"Ma'am? Are you alright?"

Milly's query pulled Meryl from her musings.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, fine," Meryl said. Then she pointed to the insurance policy—Milly had read it in its entirety by now, she saw. "What do you think?"

"It's exactly what she told us it was," said Milly, turning a few pages without really looking at them and shrugging. "It absolutely defines itself as a lifetime guarantee. It just takes a hell of a long time getting around to it," she muttered, frowning.

"Excellent," said Meryl, standing. She downed the last of her coffee and then flagged down the innkeeper, who was slicing salmon for sandwiches.

"Well?" demanded the woman. Meryl couldn't help noticing that the innkeeper still held the heavy knife in one hand.

"You are entitled to full compensation," Meryl told her, formally. "I will have the report written and mailed by the end of the day, and your money should arrive within the month, barring any_—_" _fuck-ups_ "_—_incidents within the mail routes." The mail carriers' union had gone on strike for two whole months last year, throwing all cross-world businesses into minor chaos. Meryl had been without three paychecks before it was finally resolved, and she had held a grudge ever since.

"Good," said the woman, drawing Meryl's attention back to the conversation at hand. She watched light from the ceiling lamps glint briefly on the knife blade. "I'm glad we understand each other."

Meryl swallowed, hard. "Quite."

She and Milly were at the plant within minutes. Meryl had been unsure if they would be able to talk their way in, but as it turned out, she had seriously underestimated Milly's good looks.

When they arrived, the building was a solid, intimidating wall of steel. They could only find a small door near the edge of the facility, and when Meryl approached it—_to knock? or what?_—it slid open automatically, eliciting a small squeak of surprise from Milly.

Past that door (which slid shut behind them, nearly catching the hem of Milly's cloak), they found themselves in a fairly small and sparse room—a reception area, Meryl assumed—which contained only a young man in a blue jumpsuit and matching red-striped hat (which was turned backwards), waiting at a desk stationed before a set of heavy steel double-doors.

Meryl was pretty sure the man was asleep. His feet were propped up on the desk and he was leaning back, his head resting on the back of the chair. She cleared her throat when she and Milly reached the desk, and when the man didn't respond, she said, "Excuse me, sir?" Meryl noticed the name stitched on the shoulder of his jumpsuit: _Ainsworth_.

"Mr. Ainsworth?"

When there was still no response, Meryl had no qualms about reaching forward to shove his feet over the side of the desk. She thought she heard a quiet, chiding, "_Ma'am,_" under Milly's breath, but it had worked. The young man sat up, making a startled noise as his feet hit the floor again. He hurriedly pulled his hat around so the bill was forward, blinking dazedly. He saw caught sight of Meryl and scowled, and then—in the manner to which Meryl had been accustomed, over the course of their travels—his gaze jumped over her head to Milly.

His jaw actually dropped, and Meryl did her best not grind her teeth.

"_Excuse me_, Mr. Ainsworth," she said, in a half-growl. "My name is Meryl Stryfe, and this is my partner—"

"Milly Thompson!"

"We work for the Bernadelli Insurance Company," Meryl explained. "We need to speak with your head engineer, Elizabeth."

"No one outside the union is allowed inside the plant," said Ainsworth automatically, and Meryl recognized it as the standard response, though he was smiling up at Milly now.

"Not even just a quick tour?" Milly asked, oblivious to the attention, as usual.

A loud _beep_ and a _click_ heralded the entrance of another blue-clad engineer, through the double-doors behind the desk. This man's hat had a blue stripe.

"Hey," he said to Ainsworth, "I heard the outer door alarm, what's going on?"

Ainsworth just pointed, and the second man finally noticed Meryl and Milly.

"Oh!" said the man, blinking up at Milly. Meryl rolled her eyes. "Um… Hello! Can I help you?"

"Hi!" said Milly in return, smiling.

"My name is Meryl Stryfe, and this is my partner—"

"Milly Thompson!"

"We work for the Bernadelli Insurance Company," said Meryl, wearily. Before she could go on, Ainsworth interrupted, "They want a tour..." He looked up to the second man and left the sentence hanging awkwardly.

"Well," said the man, hesitantly. Meryl already knew this was against company policy, but apparently for Milly he could make an exception. "I…suppose so," he said. "But just the outer areas," he added, quickly. "Not the interior or the control room."

"Oh, thank you!" said Milly, beaming. The second man actually went a little pink, and he opened the double-doors again, tapping out a seven-digit code on the number pad. He ushered them through the doors, but had to stop Ainsworth following them.

"You're still on duty!" said the second man, sternly. Ainsworth looked disappointed, and he gave Meryl and Milly a morose, "Well…bye."

The two women followed the second man (Peterson, Meryl thought his name had been) through the empty halls of the outer area of the plant. Meryl could hear the sounds of heavy equipment scraping across metal flooring, people talking to each other, calling out information, and she didn't really listen to Peterson—Patterson?—who was pointing out different aspects of the plant as they walked. Milly was nodding and making "hmm" noises, occasionally asking questions, but Meryl was more concerned with looking into each room they passed, hoping for a glimpse of—_there!_

"Hey, wait a minute," said another blue-jumpsuited man as Meryl slipped past him and into what was unmistakably the main control room. To her left, several men were connecting wires and cables to equipment they had clearly brought with them, while others were clearing sand and dust off long-unused consoles of the plant's main controls. Meryl shrugged off someone's hand and made a bee-line for where she had seen Elizabeth sitting. The woman was facing a screen on the opposite wall, but Meryl recognized the over-sized purple bow in Elizabeth's hair. Meryl heard her speaking as she drew nearer.

"…just because I know how to make it _work_, doesn't mean I understand what the plant really _is_," Elizabeth was saying. "But still, I'm in danger."

"_You can't be in here!_"

"How have you managed so far?"

That was Vash; Meryl saw him now, previously hidden out of sight behind a thick set of twisted cables hanging unsupported from the ceiling. Vash stood at Elizabeth's side, his hand on the high back of her chair.

"The union always sent an escort with me," said Elizabeth, shrugging. Then she turned her face up to Vash's and cooed, "But when I came here, you were here for me." Meryl saw the woman's sickly sweet smile in profile, and Vash gave another little shiver of pleasure as Elizabeth reached up to stroke his nose. Meryl felt her left eye twitch.

When she reached them, Meryl slapped Vash's hand away and grabbed the back of Elizabeth's chair herself, pulling the woman around to face her. Elizabeth's expression went from surprise to annoyance in an instant—then briefly to something darker, something Meryl wasn't sure she could name.

"We need to finish that chat we started this morning," said Meryl, coolly.

"How did you even get _in_ here?" demanded Elizabeth, her eyes narrowing. By now Milly had caught up to Meryl, with Peterson—Perkins?—hot on her heels, looking flushed and extremely guilty.

"I'm sorry, Ma'am," Peterson—Parkinson?—wheezed. Apparently Milly had come here at a run. Elizabeth turned a death glare on the man and he shrank away from her in fright.

"Ma'am?"

Someone was trying to catch Elizabeth's attention and all five of them (Meryl, Milly, Elizabeth, Vash, Peterson_—_Pinkerton?) glanced sideways at the man who had risen to his feet. Elizabeth stood and swept across the room to his workstation. The rest of them followed.

"What is it, O'Brian?" Elizabeth asked, leaning forward to look over his shoulder. Meryl saw the man's eyes were drawn involuntarily sideways for an instant as Elizabeth's proximity offered him an excellent view of her chest.

"The production system in reactor 3 suddenly started operating," said O'Brian, after clearing his throat. He tapped a single key on his console, repeatedly. "It shouldn't have even begun cycling yet, we haven't finished setting up the proper equipment."

"Just shut it down," ordered Elizabeth.

"Yes, Ma'am," said O'Brian, now tapping a long sequence of keys. He waited, and then frowned. He retyped the same sequence, and waited again. "It's—it's no good," he said, puzzled. "It's not shutting down, it won't respond to commands from the main console." He looked back to Elizabeth again.

"I'll do it manually," she told him, strangely unsurprised by this information. Meryl frowned. Snapping her fingers commandingly, Elizabeth ordered, "Come along Poochi!"

Meryl watched through narrowed eyes as Vash followed along in Elizabeth's wake, leaving the control room through a door towards the interior of the plant itself. She surreptitiously nudged Milly with her elbow and inclined her head slightly towards where woman and Idiot had disappeared. The younger woman just nodded and faced the engineer sitting beside O'Brian, resting one hand on the back of his chair as she turned her back to Meryl. Milly leaned forward over the man's workstation, asking interestedly, "What does _this_ button do?"

"_Don't touch that!_"

Hidden behind Milly's broad shoulders, Meryl slipped away from the rest of the plant workers unnoticed. She grabbed a pen from a clipboard laying unguarded on an empty work surface and followed Vash and Elizabeth through the open door.

Elizabeth was walking a few paces ahead of Vash down a dimly-lit hall, and Meryl wanted to catch his attention—but not _hers. _Meryl pulled the cap off the pen as she followed them, several yarz behind. Then she balanced the plastic cap on thumb and forefinger, took aim, and flicked it as hard as she could.

The pen cap hit Vash squarely in the back of the ear and Meryl couldn't help grinning, giving a silent fist-pump and internal _Yesss! _of triumph. Vash just clapped his right hand over his ear and started looking around for what had struck him. Meryl scowled in exasperation—_turn around, Idiot!_—and was moments away from trying to hiss at him, quietly enough that Elizabeth wouldn't hear her.

Thankfully, it only took Vash a few seconds to find the pen cap, which had bounced off the wall and rolled across the floor behind him. He picked it up curiously before finally noticing Meryl.

Vash looked surprised for one instant, and then his eyes narrowed suspiciously. He held up the cap and pointed at it while giving her an unmistakably accusatory glare. Meryl just rolled her eyes. This began a strange, wholly silent conversation between them, spoken almost entirely though raised eyebrows and significant glances.

Meryl felt the muscles of her forehead practically twitching as she brought her eyebrows together fiercely: _What the hell are you doing?_

Vash looked mildly puzzled: _What?_

Meryl jerked her chin up sharply at Elizabeth's retreating back: _With __**her.**_ But then she was distracted for a moment, watching the other woman swaying as she walked.

How the hell did she make her hips _do_ that? Meryl's hips _never_ did that.

She was pulled back to the conversation as Vash waved a hand in her line of sight and then brought her gaze around again, pointing to his face: _Hey. Me. Pay attention to me._

Meryl scowled at him, then pointed solidly at the corner where Elizabeth had disappeared: _What the hell is going on? What is she doing? What does she want with you?_

Vash just grinned broadly at her and shrugged, then very clearly mouthed the words, "_We'll see._" He gave her a huge wink and turned the corner.

Meryl's jaw had dropped at this reaction, and she was ready to scream after him, no longer caring if Elizabeth heard her or not. But someone else cried out first.

"There you are!"

Taken by surprise, Meryl's shout to Vash became just a weird gurgle in her throat as she jumped nearly a foot in the air in alarm. Apparently, they had finally noticed her missing from the control room and sent someone to look for her. It was one of the junior engineers, Meryl assumed (she thought could tell from the red stripe on his hat; O'Brian's had been blue), and he looked annoyed to be the one sent on the errand.

"You can't be back here," he said, taking hold of her elbow. Meryl yanked her arm free and gave him a severe look. He yielded, raising both hands in a placating gesture, then inclined his head and waved her forward to return the way she had come. Meryl preceded the man to the control room and took up her place at Milly's side again. Peterson—Packingham?—still looked sheepish, but seemed to be trying to redeem himself by keeping a close watch on her and Milly, perhaps to keep them from stirring up any more trouble (though Meryl thought there wasn't much they could do at this point; just stay put and wait for Elizabeth to return).

"O'Brian," Meryl said suddenly, an unpleasant thought striking her, "what will happen if Elizabeth can't shut down the reactor?"

The man turned to face her with a worried expression, his mouth set in a grim line. He traded a glance with another blue-striped senior engineer sitting a few consoles down, and said, quietly, "It will trigger an overflow. Once it reaches the enomes range—that'd take a few hours, mind you—there'd be nothing we could do."

"Nothing you could do about what?" Milly asked, her voice hushed.

"Nothing we could do to stop the reactor from exploding," finished the other man.

"What size of explosion are we talking about here?" asked Meryl, emergency preparations already taking shape in her mind.

"We'd be—or whatever's left of us—would be sitting in a crater over 200 yarz in diameter."

Meryl sucked air in through her teeth.

"But it won't happen," Peterson—Pumpernickel?—assured them, with a weak smile. "Elizabeth is already on her way to fix it."

"Wait," said O'Brian suddenly. He frowned, his eyes quickly scanning the screen at his workstation. His fingers tapped even more quickly on the keys of the interface. Meryl stepped closer to look over his shoulder and noticed that each key was marked with a symbol she didn't recognize.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"The power levels," he said. "They should be dropping—if Elizabeth is inputting the right information—but they're only going up. They're _sky-rocketing!_"

The other senior engineer they'd been speaking with jumped up suddenly from his seat, pointing to the largest screen with a wordless cry of alarm. Meryl didn't have any plant-engineering training, but even _she_ could tell that the array of flashing red triangles was a Bad Thing.

"Evacuate the plant!" Elizabeth ordered, and Meryl nearly jumped out of her skin. The woman had appeared again in their midst completely silently, and now her face was set with a severe expression. Meryl couldn't quite tell what it was, but there was a _new_ wrongness about Elizabeth. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her perfectly made-up face was _off,_ and when she moved toward the emergency exit it was with a strange rigidness that hadn't been there before.

"Wait, Vash—where's Vash?" Meryl asked, noticing suddenly his absence.

"He's not coming," Elizabeth said, sharply. She reached the fire door and pulled the faded red lever in the corner. A klaxon began to wail and everyone simultaneously put their hands over their ears.

"Why the hell not?" demanded Meryl, practically shouting to be heard over the alarm.

"He opted to stay behind," said Elizabeth, not looking at Meryl. She was gesturing at the other plant workers, trying to usher everyone out. "He's seeing it through to the end."

"That doesn't make any sense!" Meryl said, shaking her head violently with both hands still pressed over her ears. "That doesn't make _any goddamn sense!_" Elizabeth ignored her. She had taken yet another of the senior engineers aside, giving instructions Meryl couldn't hear, and the man ran for the hall behind them toward the interior of the plant.

"Everyone get out!" Elizabeth ordered, her low voice making an impressively commanding bellow as she hurried back to the exit, following the rest of the workers. "The plant is becoming dangerously unstable!"

Meryl leapt forward and seized the other woman's wrist, halting her progress.

"Where's Vash?" Meryl demanded, again. Elizabeth turned back around, yanking her wrist out of Meryl's grasp as she glared down at the smaller woman. _Everything_ was wrong with Elizabeth now, her mouth lined and eyes ablaze with hatred.

"What _is_ he to you, anyway?" Elizabeth asked her, angrily.

"My job!" shouted Meryl, equally angry.

For a moment, the other woman just stared at her. Then she burst out laughing. With Elizabeth's low voice, the laughter was rich and rang out loudly enough to rival even the klaxon.

"You honestly believe that, don't you?" said Elizabeth, shaking her head scathingly as she stared down at Meryl.

"What?" asked Meryl, utterly confused, her anger momentarily forgotten in the face of this baffling statement. But Elizabeth didn't explain the comment further.

"Get out of here now, if you value your life," she warned Meryl.

"And what about Vash's?"

Elizabeth might not value his life… But Meryl found that _she_ did.

"Fine," said Elizabeth, baring her teeth in a wolf-like snarl. "Stay, then! Stay and die _with_—" Her jaw snapped shut on the end of the sentence, but Meryl already knew what it was.

_Die with him!_

She gaped in total disbelief at the other woman, but Elizabeth just stared her down with those furious eyes, daring her to say something. The situation was just _wrong, _this woman was all _wrong—_Meryl was sure now of Elizabeth's intent to kill Vash, and it seemed she was willing to destroy the plant along with him. Meryl's fingers curled into fists, and her breath hissed out between clenched teeth, and every muscle in her body tensed.

And she lost her temper. Meryl reached up and seized Elizabeth by those _idiotic_ pouffed shoulders of the dress she wore and pulled her off-balance, throwing the woman down with her back against the nearest desk-console. Elizabeth gave a high-pitched scream and beat ineffectively at Meryl's arms with her fists. Meryl grabbed the huge ruby brooch on Elizabeth's collar, twisting it in her grip, tightening the fabric around the woman's throat until Elizabeth choked for breath.

"_What have you done?_" Meryl shrieked.

"Ma'am, _no!_" cried Milly, wrapping long arms around Meryl's entire torso, hauling her backwards and away from the other woman. Elizabeth slid to the floor, coughing.

"You're _insane!_" gasped Elizabeth, standing unsteadily as she pulled at her collar. "You're both fucking _crazy!_ You _deserve_ each other!" she screamed, racing for the exit without looking back.

Milly put Meryl down on her feet again, but still held solidly to the smaller woman's elbow.

"Ma'am, we have to go!" said Milly, desperately. "We have to aid in the evacuation, get people to safety!"

"_You_ go," said Meryl, peeling Milly's fingers from around her arm. Milly looked perplexed—almost angry—and tried to grab her elbow again. Meryl retreated further from Milly's grasp and had a sudden flash of inspiration: "Get people behind the steamer," she said. "It's heavy enough to withstand even this kind of explosion, and there's room for everyone—the whole city."

"But Ma'am—"

"_Go!_" Meryl ordered, pointing toward the exit, already moving in the opposite direction. "I'm going for Vash!" She went through the door at the back of the control room and ran for the end of the hall, where she had last seen Vash turn the corner, only then realizing that she had only the vaguest idea of where she was going. But she _was _going to find him. Meryl took long strides down the empty metal corridors, her boots making loud, echoing footfalls as she ran.

Meryl's mind was racing. Something had happened between the time Vash had followed Elizabeth around that corner and the time the woman had returned, alone, to the control room. Elizabeth looked like she had met the Angel of Death himself, and Vash… Vash was missing. Elizabeth had done something, Meryl was sure of it, had compromised the plant somehow, and now Vash was gone, lost somewhere in an apparently labyrinthine building that was only minutes from a catastrophic meltdown.

Meryl thought suddenly of their last real conversation. What had she said to him, then?

_This time, I'll let you drown._

She broke into a dead sprint.


	32. Episode 6, Lost July, Part 5

The klaxon was still wailing, loud in Meryl's ears, but there seemed to be something else pressing in on her eardrums too; a weird humming sound, reverberating through the air as though the plant-bulb couldn't hold in the power and it was leaking out into the main building. The floor under her feet was vibrating like a steamer with uncalibrated engines, and _that_ struck a chord from ages ago—she needed to find Vash _fast._

Every footstep along the metal corridor still rang out like the blow of hammer on anvil, and Meryl paused at each door she found. Everything was locked, and she growled in frustration, looking through the small porthole windows into each room, hoping to find Vash somewhere. To find him somewhere, _alive._

The air was buzzing in her ears now and, retracing her steps after yet another dead-end, the noise grew suddenly louder, overpowering even the sound of the klaxon until it felt like her whole skull was vibrating from the intensity. There was one final door at the other end of the hall and she slid to a halt before it, out of breath and squinting at the bright light spilling out from the porthole window. Meryl cupped her hands around her eyes and peered in.

She thought her heart might have just stopped dead in her chest. She was looking in at a circular room, with a tangled network of criss-crossing metal pipes skirting the walls. The room was lit only by columns of light spilling out from large holes in the ceiling—Meryl realized that this place must be directly below the plant-bulb—and Vash was standing there on a platform at the center, his face and palms turned upward.

"What the hell are you _doing_ here?"

Meryl almost screamed, spinning in an instant to find the source of the voice. The man standing behind her was wearing a blue-striped hat, identifying him as a senior engineer, and Meryl recognized him as the man Elizabeth had sent into the innards of the plant just before everyone else had evacuated.

"There's a man in there," Meryl began to explain. Her heart was beating double-time now from the shock he'd given her, and she had to scream just to be heard over the myriad sounds of the dying plant. "You have to help me—"

"We have to get out of here!" said the man, deaf to Meryl's words. His eyes were wide in alarm, nearly panic, and his broad hand wrapped fully around Meryl's bicep as he started dragging her away.

"No—_wait!_" Meryl shouted, trying to free herself from his grasp. "There's someone still _in_ there!" she said, pointing toward the door behind them as the man pulled her relentlessly on in the opposite direction.

"That's impossible," he said, flatly. "No one could survive in there!"

"Goddamn it, I'm _telling _you—" Meryl managed to wrench her arm out of his grip, but she only made it three steps before the man wrapped an arm around her waist and actually hauled her up over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes, running flat-out for the exit.

"Girl, we have _got to get out of here!_"

"No, please!" Meryl begged, pushing futilely at the man's shoulders. "I can't leave him—we can't just leave him here to die!"

"If there's really anyone in there, he's _already dead_," said the man. He ran through a set of corridors Meryl hadn't found in her own search and just a few minutes later carried her through a door at the end of the next hall, emerging into bright sunlight.

With her view facing backwards, hanging over the man's shoulder, Meryl could see they had exited the plant on the opposite end of the building than she and Milly had entered. The whole city of Inepril was on the other side of the plant. The steamer—the only safe place to be, now—was on the other side of the plant.

Meryl tried to turn to see where the man carrying her was running _to,_ but no matter the contortion she couldn't manage it.

Then suddenly the sounds of the plant behind them had changed, and Meryl turned back to look. There were huge sparks flashing across the glass face of the plant-bulb like jagged tongues of blue lightning, crackling as loudly as gunfire. But they were dying out, become smaller and less frequent, until there was one final, blinding flash of electric blue that encompassed the whole of the bulb and left its image burned momentarily into Meryl's eyes.

She hammered on the man's back to catch his attention, shouting for him to stop. A moment later the klaxon had stopped its wailing and the man finally turned back to the plant. Still hoisted over his shoulder, Meryl was facing the opposite direction again and was alarmed to realize they had been almost at a cliff's edge, leaving them nowhere to go if the plant _had_ exploded.

The man set Meryl back down on her feet and she spun to stare at the plant. The constant buzzing hum that had filled the halls and echoed out of the building now quieted slowly into nothing, and everything was still.

After a seemingly endless moment of silence, while Meryl hardly dared to breathe, a huge cheer burst out from the other side of the plant. She and the man beside her shared a bewildered glance, and then both started sprinting towards the noise.

Minutes later they rounded the corner and joined a growing crowd around the plant. A steady stream of people seemed to be gleefully returning to their homes or searching out family they had been separated from during all the panic.

And a familiar figure was standing at the main entrance to the plant.

Meryl's mouth fell open slightly in wonder.

"Vash," she whispered.

But _how…?_

She began running toward him, trying to make her way through the huge swarm of people running all different directions. The crowd thinned once and with a stab of fear Meryl caught sight of Elizabeth walking purposefully toward Vash, and was even more alarmed to see that Vash was moving to meet her.

Meryl started pushing her way through the throng, sometimes actually knocking people aside (admittedly, they were smallish people) in her hurry. She knew Vash would never kill Elizabeth, would-be assassin or not, but Meryl was still worried about what he _would_ do.

She finally emerged from the thick of the crowd, gasping for breath, and then stopped dead in her tracks.

He was _embracing_ her. Vash's arms were wrapped around Elizabeth's shoulders, holding her close to his chest.

"What…?" The word was almost silent on Meryl's lips, and she felt the muscles of her forehead seizing up as her brows came together in utter confusion. The ache in her forehead was the same as always, more painful perhaps than she remembered, but it wasn't in anger this time. She wasn't sure what it was, but her insides felt strangely hollow and pained, like she'd been struck unexpectedly in the chest.

She took a step backward, retreating from the scene she couldn't understand, and was knocked nearly off her feet by someone running past in the crowd behind her. And yet Meryl still stared at the two of them, watching Elizabeth's shoulders shaking now as she collapsed to the ground—weeping?—and Vash knelt to follow her, still holding her gently in his arms.

Then Meryl found herself unexpectedly on the ground, looking up at the sky, with the wind knocked out of her. A man wearing a desperately apologetic expression appeared in her vision and bent to help her back up to her feet.

"Sorry!" said the man, trying to brush dirt of Meryl's shoulders. "Are you alright? Are you hurt? I'm so sorry…"

"Oh, no; I'm alright," she told him, a little dazedly. "I just wasn't paying attention, I'd gotten—" Meryl glanced over her shoulder but more people had gathered at the plant and were blocking Vash and Elizabeth from her view. "Distracted," she finished. "Sorry."

After assuring the man again that she wasn't hurt, Meryl stood facing the plant—and Vash, and Elizabeth, somewhere in the crowd—but she didn't know what to do. It didn't seem that Vash was in danger anymore, and while she couldn't explain Elizabeth's sudden change in behavior (or why it bothered _her_ so much), Meryl knew it didn't really concern her anymore.

For lack of a better idea, Meryl returned to the room she and Milly were sharing at the inn. The younger woman wasn't there, but that made sense; if Meryl had told Milly to get the townsfolk to safety, then by god that's what Milly would do. She was likely still in the process of getting people organized, though now that the danger had passed she would probably be helping return them to their homes.

Meryl's eyes were drawn inescapably to the typewriter sitting on the small table in the corner of the room, and she groaned as her shoulders slumped in a gesture of utter defeat. This was going to be another difficult report—the third, in as many days! She sat, stared down at the keys, and tried to start composing the thing in her head.

But she couldn't focus. She kept seeing Elizabeth's face, and the wild fury that had burned in her eyes. And then Vash, _embracing_ her. The whole thing was confusing as hell and Meryl couldn't concentrate more than a few short lines at a time, and she found herself making slow progress.

It was barely past noon, but Meryl needed a break and she managed to convince herself that it wasn't too early for a drink. Just a small one. She locked the door behind her and walked down the hall toward the stairs. Vash's room was on the other side of the stairway and for a moment Meryl paused at the landing. Might he be back here already?

But someone else was behind her now, waiting to follow her down the stairs, and Meryl took the steps two at a time until she reached the saloon floor.

It was more crowded than she expected, but then the town _had_ just escaped potential disaster (again), so why wouldn't people be celebrating already? Meryl took a seat and ordered a small glass of whiskey—only two fingers—when the old woman made her way to Meryl's end of the bar.

She sat alone and drank slowly, watching the crowd behind her in the mirror against the wall. Each time the door opened, Meryl hoped it might be Vash. But he never came, and there was only so long she could draw out two fingers of whiskey. Meryl dropped a few double-dollars on the bar and left. Her seat was taken almost immediately as she made her way up the stairs.

At the fourth-floor landing Meryl found herself alone and, after a moment's hesitation, she turned left instead of right and made her way to Vash's door. For some reason she didn't want to knock; she leaned close and pressed her ear to the door, holding her breath and listening hard for any sound. She didn't hear anything.

Another door opening behind her made her jump and Meryl hurried back to her own room. Still a little flustered at being caught eavesdropping (whether or not she had actually heard anything), Meryl sat at the table again and read over the few lines she had written. She faced down the typewriter with a sigh, wishing she'd thought to bring another drink up with her. A larger one.

Reluctantly, Meryl finally buckled down and got to work, giving some brief exposition before describing the near-cataclysmic events at the plant. Spitefully, she pointed all fingers at Elizabeth and strongly advised Bernadelli to avoid any other incidents involving the Marius Bresken Kantacle Technical Industrial Union. _She_ sure as hell wouldn't take that assignment.

Meryl reached absent-mindedly for her drink, but her fingers closed on empty air and she remembered with a frown that she hadn't actually brought one upstairs. She pressed her lips tightly together, annoyed, and resumed her typing.

At the sound of the door opening, Meryl turned to see Milly rush in, the worried expression she wore turning immediately to relief as she caught sight of Meryl.

"_There_ you are," said the younger woman. "I was looking _everywhere._"

"Why?" asked Meryl, suddenly worried as well. Had something happened? She hadn't heard any more sirens or explosions… "What's wrong?"

"Oh—well, nothing, now," said Milly. "I just thought… I thought you might come help me, once Mr. Vash was safe." She wore a pout that was dangerously close to a kicked-puppy expression, and Meryl turned away for a moment in case it escalated. "When you didn't come, I got worried."

"Sorry," Meryl said absently. "I was going to keep an eye on Vash."

"Then why didn't you?" asked Milly, sounding puzzled as she undid the fastenings on her cloak. All Meryl could think of was the strange feeling in her chest when she saw Vash and Elizabeth together outside the plant.

"I don't know," Meryl murmured, honestly. "Where are they now?" She realized after a moment that she hadn't said explicitly who _they _were, but Milly seemed to know what she meant.

"As for Mr. Vash, I don't know," said Milly. Meryl spun in her seat as her insides twisted up in anxiety—_what?_—but Milly was shaking her head, saying, "But Elizabeth is already gone. She commissioned a shuttle to herself and left as soon as she'd fixed the plant—for good, this time."

Meryl breathed a small sigh of relief and reached for the drink, scowling when she realized again there was nothing there. Milly looked at her oddly, and went on, "I don't know why she didn't just wait for the steamer; it's leaving in the morning."

Milly shrugged, turning to hang her cloak on the hook on the back of the door, but Meryl knew why. Whatever had happened in the plant, and whatever had happened between Elizabeth and Vash; that's what the woman was running from. Whatever it was, Meryl remembered the look on Elizabeth's face when she returned to the control room alone… She doubted the other woman would ever be able to run far enough to escape it.

"Have you finished the report, Ma'am?" Milly asked, returning to look down over Meryl's shoulder.

"Nearly," said Meryl, slightly embarrassed that she had so little to show for the amount of time she had been back at the inn.

"Well, I have a surprise for you, when you're done," Milly told her, smiling. "So hurry up!"

Meryl frowned. _A surprise?_ Not another cat, surely… But Milly said nothing more and settled cross-legged on the bed, drawing a book from her suitcase on the floor. Meryl recognized it as the younger woman's diary and turned away again to give her as much privacy as their cramped room could offer.

Another hour's work had the report finished, and over a final re-reading Meryl wondered if the people back at Bernadelli's home office even believed her anymore. All the situations she and Milly found themselves in were just so _absurd._ A manic sort of giggle escaped Meryl as she thought about the sheer weight of everything that had happened in the last three days.

"Are you alright, Ma'am?" asked Milly, glancing up at Meryl curiously.

"Yeah," said Meryl, sighing. She rubbed a hand over her face and sat back in the chair. "It's just ridiculous. How did we get ourselves into this?"

Milly considered this, thoughtfully. Then she shrugged and said, cheerfully, "Just lucky, I guess." This brought a genuine smile to Meryl's face, and she laughed.

"I guess."

"Are you done now, Ma'am?" Milly asked.

Meryl just nodded, somewhat apprehensively, wondering what the other woman had planned. In the past, a "surprise" meant anything from Kuroneko to a terrible hair-bleaching incident that they had both agreed never to speak of again.

"Good!" exclaimed Milly, letting the diary fall closed and setting it aside. "I have a present for you," she said, reaching for her suitcase again. Milly opened it and pulled out two paper-wrapped parcels, which Meryl recognized as those the younger woman had bought the night before at the market. Milly opened the smaller one and laid the contents out on the bed.

Meryl looked down in open-mouthed horror and backed away several paces.

"_No!_"

But her protestations were in vain. Ten minutes later, Milly was practically pushing her down the stairs to the saloon, and Meryl felt ridiculous. The skirt—well, it hardly had enough material to merit any real designation of clothing. The blouse that matched it was low-cut and well-fitted, and Meryl felt so unlike herself that she might as well have been wearing a costume.

Meryl tugged helplessly on the hem of the skirt, willing it to somehow grow out another few iches. To her left, Milly looked comfortable and completely at ease in the flowing sundress she had bought for herself. Meryl eyed the extra yarz of fabric resentfully.

"Come on, Ma'am," Milly said, taking her hand. "Just relax! Look, those nice men from the plant are at the bar, let's say 'hi!' "

Meryl turned to look and she recognized the taller man as the engineer who had hauled her out of the plant against her will. She scowled automatically, but he had eyes only for Milly. Meryl didn't know the second man, but he was smiling at her amiably enough and she smiled tentatively back.

By the time Milly had led Meryl to the bar, each man had a drink in hand to offer them.

"Ladies," said the man Meryl had recognized. He handed his drink to Milly, and Meryl reached for the glass proffered by the other.

"I'm Sean," he said, smiling at her. He didn't relinquish the drink, though, and Meryl looked at him bemusedly. "And you are?" he prompted.

"Meryl," she said, laughing as Sean finally let go of the glass.

"Cheers, Meryl," said Sean, raising the bottle he held. Meryl tapped her glass against it, and drank.

Over the first few drinks, Meryl learned that Milly's new friend was called Jim, and that Jim and Sean had known each other since childhood. Over the next few drinks, Milly explained that she and "Ma'am" worked for an insurance company, paid to keep a watchful eye on Vash the Stampede. As usual, Meryl was glad enough to let Milly do most of the talking. She just nodded on cue and sipped each whiskey as it came, and only really spoke to answer the more specific questions Sean occasionally posed her.

Meryl wasn't sure why she had let Milly talk her into this; she wasn't all that engrossed in the group conversation, or even in the man trying to engage her in a more personal one. Mostly she was drinking and only half-listening to Sean talk.

He was just telling Meryl how he had come to be a plant engineer when a flash of scarlet caught her eye and she turned quickly to see Vash making his way through the crowd toward the stairs. Meryl stood and followed him, leaving Sean in the middle of a sentence without a word of explanation. After a few seconds, she caught the elbow of Vash's jacket and pulled him around.

"Where the hell have you been?" she demanded, scowling. Meryl was finally starting to feel the real effects of the alcohol; that warmth that kept her comfortable despite wearing so little in the way of clothing, the mellow buzz that kept her from being _too_ furious at Vash for his unexplained disappearance. She didn't even have the urge to hit him (yet, anyway).

For an instant, Vash looked down at her in bewilderment, as though he'd never seen her before. Then recognition dawned in his eyes and his jaw dropped as he stared openly. Meryl hadn't expected this reaction and she stepped back defensively, confused.

"What!" she said, feeling incredibly self-conscious again as Vash's eyes traveled the length of her body, top to bottom, without even bothering to try hiding it.

Okay, _now _she wanted to hit him. Meryl was already making a fist when someone put a hand on her elbow, startling her into forgetting her anger. She glanced sideways to see Sean regarding Vash interestedly.

"This guy bothering you?" he asked her, and though he was smiling good-naturedly enough, Meryl thought she saw something _off_ in his expression as he looked at Vash. "Trying to steal you away from me?" He laughed, and _that_ was off_,_ too.

"What?" asked Meryl, flustered at this turn of events. "No, he's just—"

"Good," said Sean, smiling again, " 'Cause there's another whiskey back at the bar with your name on it." He began steering Meryl toward the bar with a hand at the small of her back. "Better luck next time, pal," he told Vash, with that same strangely false, good-natured smile. Meryl glanced over her shoulder as Sean led her away and she was surprised to see Vash frowning as he watched them go.

Then she was back at the bar with Milly and Jim, and Sean was pressing yet another glass into her hand. She looked back for Vash one last time, but he had vanished into the crowd.

_What the hell just happened?_

Meryl frowned into her glass, but drank it anyway.

After that, everything started to blur together. Sean kept buying her drinks and she kept drinking them, steadily losing track of time and hardly paying attention to what she did or said until she was startled out of her growing stupor by a nearby cry of, "_Whew!_"

Meryl turned where she sat and was alarmed to see a row of upturned shot-glasses in front of Milly, and another glass in her hand.

Before Meryl could stop her, Milly threw back the shot and slammed the glass down on the bar, letting out her breath in another "_Whew!_"

"One more?" Jim asked, grinning.

"Um," said Meryl, frowning worriedly. She felt that Milly had probably already had too much. Blinking, struggling to focus on Milly's face, Meryl was pretty sure _she'd _had too much. When had _that_ happened? "Are you sure that's such a good idea?" she asked Milly, hesitantly.

"I can handle it!" Milly exclaimed, suddenly, banging a fist so hard on the bar that it made the shot-glasses jump. "I am _unique!_ For I have a different stomach for cake and ice cream!"

Then she dissolved into giggles and leaned heavily on Jim's shoulder, her unexpected weight nearly tipping him over.

"Yeah, I think she's had enough, boys," Meryl said, now convinced. She stood, catching her balance on Sean's shoulder—_definitely too much—_and tugged at Milly's elbow. "I'm going to get her upstairs into bed before she passes out." For a moment Jim looked disappointed, but he gave them a charming smile the next.

"Perhaps another night," he said, catching Milly's hand as she stood and brushing a kiss across her knuckles.

It took every ounce of effort Meryl could summon up to keep from rolling her eyes. Milly giggled even harder.

"Alright, come on," Meryl said, reclaiming Milly's hand and drawing her away from the bar.

As she turned, Sean caught her free hand and kissed her knuckles as well. "Perhaps another night," he echoed, smiling. Meryl felt herself blushing furiously and turned quickly away.

Meryl led Milly through the crowd, threading her way between tables and hearing the other woman still giggling behind her. Out of habit she scanned the crowd for a broom-head of bristly blonde hair, but she couldn't find Vash anywhere. Meryl just wanted to get Milly to bed as quickly as possible, so she reluctantly decided Vash could take care of himself for a night.

She suddenly remembered the dream from a few nights before, helping Vash across the room to the stairs just like she was doing now, for Milly. And the dream had gone so horribly _awry._ Meryl swallowed hard and suddenly it seemed like she could feel his weight on her again, feel her lips tingling where Vash's mouth had pressed so fiercely against hers.

"Ma'am?"

Milly was clearly wondering why they had stopped, and her voice was a welcome reminder of reality. Meryl started forward again, trying to forget the way Vash had looked at her…

The stairs made Meryl dizzy and she was glad she had stopped drinking when she did. She managed to get them both into their room and let Milly have the first chance at getting cleaned up. Meryl collapsed onto the bed on her back and had only gone so far as removing one shoe when she heard a small commotion from the bathroom. Then:

"Oh—_muffins!_" Milly hissed.

Concerned (that had been pretty harsh language, coming from Milly), Meryl knocked on the door.

"Milly?" she asked. "Is everything alright?"

"Oh," came Milly's voice, in a sigh. She opened the door a moment later. "Yes, Ma'am," she said, looking despondent. "I just…dropped my toothbrush in the toilet." Meryl did her best not to crack a smile and just patted the younger woman on the shoulder.

"I'll go get another one," she told Milly. There were several extra toothbrushes in their travel gear (they went through a lot of them; Meryl almost always forgot to pack hers when they left one town for the next), but that was all down in the Thomas saddlebags. Meryl kicked herself for not bringing them up, sighed, and pulled her other shoe back on.

She met few people on her way downstairs (though all of them seemed to be stumbling as much as she was), and then made it to the stables at the back of the building without seeing anyone at all. There she found both Thomas asleep in their stall, _thank god_. Meryl didn't really want to deal with them while being drunk enough to need to occasionally steady herself on something.

The tack and saddlebags were hung on pegs along the back wall of the stall and, of course, one of the Thomas was lying asleep directly in front of it.

_Damn it._

Meryl tip-toed as near to the animal as possible, until she could feel the heat radiating from its back on her bare shins. She reached forward and slipped her fingers under the clasp of the saddlebags, searching carefully for a spare toothbrush. It only took a minute or so, and she was relieved to finally find what she was looking for. Her hand closed around the toothbrush's narrow handle and she was pulling it free of the bag again when she heard loud voices of people entering the stables. Meryl froze, praying they wouldn't wake the Thomas.

The animal grunted, letting out a snort of foul-smelling breath, and then rolled over toward her. She yanked her hand out of the bag and danced backward out of the way. She tripped and fell hard on her ass, but she managed to bite back a surprised grunt and the Thomas didn't wake.

Meryl sighed in relief. She was halfway to her feet, but then she heard the conversation the men were having, and she recognized some of the voices.

"What are you two doing out here?" asked one, unfamiliar. "What about those girls you were drinking with? Looked like you were on your way to getting laid tonight."

"Nah," said another. "The tall one's a light-weight and the short one's over-protective." Meryl froze, still half-crouched, as she recognized Jim's deep baritone.

"Shit, that blows," said the first man.

"No kidding," replied Jim. "I had her all liquored up and ready to go, too."

Meryl scowled; she was pretty sure of the man's intentions already, but to hear him speak so crassly about it made her glad she'd acted when she did. It wasn't as though Milly needed looking after, really, but Meryl _was_ over-protective. The girl was technically her responsibility. And at that point Milly was in no fit state to make smart decisions.

"And you still couldn't score with second place?" the stranger went on, and for a moment Meryl was confused.

Apparently so was the man he addressed, because a third voice asked, "What do you mean?" It was Sean.

"Well, the little one wasn't exactly the more fuckable of the pair."

There was some laughter, and Meryl's teeth ground together_. She_ knew it, too, but still… Hearing it so bluntly and matter-of-factly was hardly a pleasant experience.

But then she was surprised by the other man's response.

"Are you kidding me?" said Sean, laughing. "Did you see the stems on that girl? Any man who wouldn't want those wrapped around him has gotta be out of his goddamn mind."

Suddenly Meryl felt flushed. An image flashed through _her_ mind now, her legs locked tightly around Sean's waist as she lay under him, gasping. Her face went hot.

Actually, she went hot all over…

It had been a hell of a long time since she'd slept with a man, and Meryl felt her heart racing at just the thought. Sean _had_ been very good-looking… The alcohol wasn't exactly helping her mind stay clear, either.

Meryl swallowed hard, breathing shallowly as the other men laughed. She took a step backward and nearly stumbled over one of the claw-like hooves of the sleeping Thomas. It woke with a shriek, and immediately latched onto her elbow.

"Goddamn it," she hissed, pulling her arm out of its beak-like mouth before its teeth could break her skin, and stepped as far back into the shadows as she could. The men had stopped talking abruptly at the noise and Meryl heard footsteps coming toward the end of the stables.

"Who's there?" demanded the stranger's voice.

Meryl said nothing, her heart racing. The animal next to her snuffled and stood, its head rising above the walls of the stall. If they came to investigate the noise, they would certainly find her. She silently prayed they would just leave—but had no such luck. All three men appeared at the mouth of the stall and she straightened.

"Hey," said Meryl, awkwardly, feeling her face go hot. She waved vaguely over her shoulder and held up the toothbrush she still clutched tightly in one hand. "Sorry to eavesdrop, I was just getting something from our Thomas…"

Both Jim and the man Meryl didn't know were smirking sideways at Sean, who stood frozen in open-mouthed surprise as he realized it was she who had overheard him.

"We'll…we'll meet you later, alright?" Jim said finally, hooking a thumb over his shoulder as he began to walk away backwards.

"No rush," muttered the other man, grinning as he turned the corner.

Meryl found herself alone with Sean, standing in an increasingly awkward silence. Sean just rubbed the back of his neck and gave Meryl a lop-sided smile.

"So…" he said. "I guess you heard all that?"

"Yeah," said Meryl, certain her face was bright red in embarrassment.

"It's true, though, you know," said Sean abruptly, casually taking a step nearer. Meryl took an automatic step backwards.

"Mm," she said, noncommittally. Suddenly the situation felt wrong. He was advancing on her, albeit fairly slowly, but he was between Meryl and the mouth of the stall and she was going to run out of room to retreat in another few steps.

"You're a damn fine-looking woman, Meryl."

"Thanks," said Meryl, and though she tried to keep her voice light it came out flat and she knew she couldn't quite hide a frown.

"Hey, it's okay," Sean told her, smiling. "Don't worry." He reached out and grabbed her around the waist, pulling her tight against him and kissing her mouth. The toothbrush fell from her fingers as for a split-second Meryl actually kissed him back, her alcohol-ridden brain thinking that this might not be such a bad idea after all.

But then his hand was on her thigh, sliding up under her skirt, and she grabbed his wrist and pushed a hand hard against his chest.

"Whoa, hold on," she said, breathless from the kiss and more than a little dizzy from all the drink. "This isn't really what I'm interested in, right now."

"Sure it is," said Sean, laughing. "We were getting on well enough at the bar, and," he raised his eyebrows knowingly, "that kiss didn't exactly say 'back off.' " He pulled Meryl in close again, kissed her open mouth when she went to protest, and then slipped his hand up the front of her blouse to cover one of her breasts.

"Knock it off!" Meryl said, more forcefully, once she'd shoved him away again. "I'm serious! This is me saying, 'back off!' " Her head was starting to ache now, and she glared at him.

"Oh come on," Sean said, grinning broadly now. He made another grab for her. "You know you want this." Meryl stepped back, but he managed to seize her right wrist in one heavy hand.

She gave a little squeak of pain—it was already bruised and tender from where Vash had caught her falling, and Meryl reacted instinctively. She spun in an instant, twisting her arm so sharply Sean was forced to let go, and she stepped forward just as quickly to slam the heel of her palm into his mouth, feeling his bottom lip split open against his teeth.

"I said, _no_, you asshole," Meryl growled. "Touch me again and I'll—" But she cut off abruptly as her quick actions seemed to catch up to her now and she swayed to one side slightly, suddenly intensely dizzy. She clutched her head in her hands for a moment and watched Sean holding a hand over his mouth.

When he looked up, Meryl expected to see his handsome face twisted into anger but she was much more unnerved to see him _smiling_.

"I knew you'd have scrap," he said appreciatively, licking the blood from his lips. He advanced on her again and Meryl let one foot slide back on the hay-strewn floor of the stables, settling into a fighting stance with both hands up ready to defend or attack.

"Back off," she warned again, though she had stumbled somewhat before getting her stance completely solid and she was starting to understand how much her drunkenness was actually affecting her. The alcohol was dulling her senses enough to put her off-balance, and her anxiety grew as she realized the odds weighing against her.

Sean stood between her and the exit, and even though he was just as drunk as she was, he had almost double her mass. Without her derringers, Meryl's main strengths were in speed and skill—both of which were now hampered. She felt her mouth go suddenly dry and she swallowed, licking her lips apprehensively.

It was as if Sean could see all of Meryl's reasoning in her head and had come to the same conclusion. He was wearing that hungry smile again and it made her skin crawl. Then she finally realized she could shout, call for help. For an instant some part of her refused to do so; her pride, her ego—_Meryl Stryfe can't defend herself against __**one**__ man?_—and she felt sick with herself for even thinking it.

"I'll scream," Meryl threatened.

"Who'd hear you?" said Sean, laughing. "Everybody's passed out by now."

For a long, tense moment they just stood sizing each other up.

"_Help!_"


	33. Episode 6, Lost July, Part 6

"_HELP!_" Meryl bellowed, as loudly as her throat would allow. Sean growled and rushed her, and instead of retreating Meryl side-stepped him, seizing one of his wrists and twisting his arm behind him before shoving him forward, adding to his own momentum, to slam him face-first into the back wall.

She didn't have enough weight to keep him there without a more severe grip and Sean easily muscled out of her hold. He brought the back of his hand hard across Meryl's face as he turned and the force of it was enough to send her sprawling, rebounding off the side of the stall and onto the ground with a squawk of surprise at the stinging pain.

Both Thomas, startled by the sudden commotion, ducked out of the way and ran for the open mouth of the stall. They disappeared around the corner before Meryl was even back on her feet, and she managed to block Sean's next blow, though it fell so heavily it nearly forced her to her knees.

When Sean drew his fist back for the next punch, Meryl snapped a kick up high, connecting solidly with the side of his head. He staggered sideways into the wall, swearing, and Meryl only barely caught her balance with both feet on solid ground again. While Sean was still recovering, Meryl raced for the mouth of the Thomas stall.

"_Help!_" she shouted, again, though she was breathing heavily now and it didn't come out nearly as loudly as before. "Somebody—_ah!_" Sean had kicked her legs out from under her and Meryl fell forward. She managed to catch herself on the stall door before she hit the ground but he caught up with her and hauled her backwards by the collar so forcefully that Meryl both felt and heard the fabric of her blouse ripping.

The collar of her shirt simply came off in Sean's hand and Meryl fell back, turning it into a roll over her shoulder that left her too dizzy to get back on her feet before Sean could just throw himself down on top of her, trying to grab her wrists and get her pinned under him on the hay and hard-packed dirt.

"Get off me, you _bastard!_" hissed Meryl, breathless. She started screaming, really screaming, at the top of her lungs. Sean winced at the sound of it, but it was taking up more oxygen than Meryl could spare from fighting and she had to choose one or the other.

She chose fight.

Without real thought to the consequences, Meryl smashed her head as hard as possible into Sean's face. It nearly blinded her with pain and she let out a groan, but Sean swore and pulled away reflexively. She used what little room she'd gained and punched him in the throat, shoving him off her enough to get free as he half-choked and put one hand at his throat.

Meryl rolled onto her front and pushed herself up on hands and knees, shouting for help again as she scrambled away. She was almost to her feet when Sean's hand seized her ankle and pulled sharply backwards. Meryl fell flat on her stomach, the wind knocked from her lungs, and Sean dragged her back and crawled up over her body until he had her pinned down again.

Her face was forced sideways into the ground, straining her neck. Meryl could just see Sean's face in her peripheral vision—his nose was dripping blood—and the smell of dirt and hay and the stink of the Thomas was thick in her nose and throat as she fought for breath. She struggled awkwardly from this position, reaching above and behind her to dig her nails into any skin she could find. Sean swore once and Meryl was sure she'd drawn more blood.

But it didn't take long for Sean to seize both her wrists and twist her arms behind her back, holding them pinned painfully between their bodies. Meryl kept twisting the whole of her body under Sean's, trying desperately to dislodge him, but he finally forced one knee between hers and kept her still. His other knee joined the first and he was pushing her legs apart, shoving her skirt up around her hips and digging his fingers under the elastic band of her underwear. Meryl drew breath for one last futile scream.

Then a gunshot rang out loudly in Meryl's ears and her scream cut short abruptly in surprise.

But she hadn't been the only one screaming.

Meryl took in a great gasping breath as the crushing weight above her disappeared. She untangled her arms behind her and rolled over as quickly as she could, sitting up and scrambling away backwards on her hands. It took her a moment to really understand what had happened.

Sean was sitting slumped against one wall, clutching at the bloody mess that had so recently been his knee. He screamed again and Meryl saw he had tried to draw his own gun; someone's boot had immediately fallen heavily on it, trapping his fingers around the trigger guard.

Meryl's gaze followed the boot up until it disappeared under a long red duster.

Vash stood over the other man, staring down at him from behind those yellow glasses, wearing an expression Meryl had never seen before and hoped never to have turned on her. Fury was etched into every hard line of his face, and when he spoke his voice came out in that terrifying low growl that could almost be felt more than heard.

"Get out of this town," ordered Vash. "Right now. If you _ever_," he hissed the emphasis, "touch a woman without her consent again, I will find you. And it won't be your other knee I put a bullet in." Vash ground down with the heel of his boot and Meryl heard the bones in Sean's fingers snap like so many toothpicks, making him squeal in pain.

Vash turned his gaze to Meryl and she flinched automatically in anticipation of seeing those eyes. But the fury was gone, replaced by an expression she couldn't quite read from behind the yellow glasses. He pulled them off quickly and Meryl saw anxiety and honest concern in green eyes gone softer now as Vash looked her over.

He holstered the revolver in an instant and his fingers flew to the fastenings of his bright red duster. A moment's work had the jacket open and Vash was shrugging it off, offering it to Meryl even as he held out one hand to help her to her feet.

Meryl took his hand, but she reached down to pluck Sean's gun from his ruined fingers before she stood. She pointed it down at the other man and was furious to find her hand was shaking slightly. The next moment, Vash's gloved fingers were wrapped over the revolver's cylinder.

She knew Vash could have twisted the gun from her grasp in an instant, but he just held his hand over hers and waited. Meryl thought of McDonough, how Vash had put the revolver in the other man's hand, already knowing what he would do. Was Vash so sure about her?

Now Meryl couldn't even look at Vash, her eyes seemingly stuck on the man who had hurt her, who would gladly have _raped_ her, who was now cowering under her gaze. As she stared into his eyes, which were wide and wet with tears from pain, rage, terror, Meryl thought of Vash and of everything she had ever seen in _his_ eyes. That Idiot sparkle, the man-in-red's intense and purposeful gaze, the strange look that gave her goosebumps, and now that new terrifying _fury_. Meryl wondered which pair would be looking back at her if she pulled the trigger…

And she decided she didn't want to find out.

Meryl released the gun and Vash pulled it from her fingers.

She let Vash wrap the red duster around her body, enveloping her in warmth. The high collar reached above her chin and covered her mouth, and when she inhaled she could smell sweat and gunpowder and something spicy and sweet and soothing. Meryl tucked her nose into the collar and breathed deeply.

Vash stood close at her side and put a hand at the small of her back to help guide her out into the cool night air. Then he took her hand—her left hand, which could actually reach past the cut-off sleeve (the other still had easily six iches of fabric dangling past her fingers)—and led her away from the stables.

Meryl walked with him but didn't know where he might take her; she didn't really want to go back upstairs and face Milly (who would only be upset and scared that it had been _her_ fault, by sending Meryl down for a toothbrush), but she had nowhere else to go and just let Vash pull her along.

The gravity of the situation—what had almost just happened to her—was starting to weigh Meryl down with each step. _Real_ fear, which hadn't had time to sink in amidst the chaos of the past few minutes, struck her now. She struggled to hold in everything that threatened to spill out of her in a delayed reaction to the attack. What if Vash hadn't found her?

Her throat was closed on tears now but she wouldn't let Vash see them; she hid her face inside the high collar of the jacket and followed him blindly from only her hand in his.

But soon Meryl was truly sobbing, tears squeezing out from the corners of her eyes to roll down over the dusty skin of her cheeks. Her shoulders were shaking as she tried to remain silent, but Meryl finally just stopped abruptly and pulled her hand from Vash's to bury her face in the scratchy fabric of the jacket's long right sleeve.

Meryl hated that he was seeing her so vulnerable. Physically outmatched by that other man was understandable, but these tears were a weakness she never wanted Vash to see. She quieted her sobbing through sheer force of will, hoping…

_What? That he'll leave, and pretend not to notice?_

Then she hiccupped in surprise; strong arms were suddenly looped around her shoulders and Vash was pulling her in close to his chest. For a moment Meryl was frozen, breath caught in her throat as she tried to make sense of this unexpected reaction. Then Vash tightened his protective embrace with a gentle squeeze and Meryl burst into tears again, her face still buried in her hands. She felt him rest his cheek on the top of her head and she let herself wrap her arms around his back, pressing her face into that strange leather half-armor he wore under the jacket. Meryl clung to him tightly, and cried.

And Vash didn't shush her, or tell her it was alright. He just let her cry. Meryl basked in the warmth from his body and breathed in the smell of him and just felt so strangely _safe_ there, in the circle of Vash's arms, like nothing in the world could touch her.

After awhile one of his hands moved up to massage the back of her neck and Meryl almost melted, leaning even further into him with a sigh as her breathing slowed and steadied again.

"I wouldn't have killed him," Meryl murmured, suddenly. She wasn't sure why it was so important to say so.

"I know," said Vash, and she felt his breath warm on her hair. "But I thought we should leave him use of _one_ knee."

Meryl gave a weak little laugh and drew back to look up into Vash's face, lessening her hold around his back—but not letting go entirely. He didn't seem to mind.

He was smiling faintly, but Meryl could tell it was barely covering a grimace as he looked her over again. She knew a few bruises must already be forming on her face, but she was glad Vash didn't ask if she was alright, when they both already knew the answer. Finally she couldn't think of any more reasons to justify her hold on him and Meryl reluctantly let go and stepped back. For a moment she was stuck in _his _hold and she thought maybe he was equally reluctant to release her.

"I suppose it's time to get some sleep," said Meryl. "If I can," she added, quietly.

Vash just nodded. She was so tempted to take his hand again and let him lead her upstairs… But that was absurd. So Meryl led the way instead and they walked in a comfortable silence until they reached the saloon. She pulled the door for open for Vash as they entered the building, but he caught the door above her head and ushered Meryl inside first (which both flattered and annoyed her at the same time).

They climbed the stairs side by side and when they reached the fourth floor landing Meryl took off Vash's jacket and handed it back to him. He just draped it over one arm and watched her. She balked now at the door the room she shared with Milly. She didn't really want to go inside.

"She must be worried," Vash murmured, seeing Meryl's hesitation. Meryl shook her head.

"She's asleep, I can hear her snoring. I'd just worry her more by waking her up, looking like this," said Meryl, waving a hand at her ripped blouse and filthy skirt. She sighed. Then Vash was pressing something into her hand.

"Take my room, then," he said, pushing open the door across the hall. "I'll find somewhere else for the night." The key was warm in her hand and Meryl watched Vash disappear into the room and emerge a moment later with the red duster on again, his black bag slung over one shoulder.

He gestured Meryl in and she entered the room, turning to face Vash again from the interior.

For a moment they just looked at each other and, try though she might, Meryl couldn't quite read his expression. Finally, she said, "Goodnight." Vash nodded in reply and turned to go.

At the last moment, Meryl suddenly remembered and reached out to catch the sleeve of Vash's jacket. He turned, looking half curious and half concerned.

"What did you do back there?" she asked. Vash frowned down at her now, puzzled. "At the plant," Meryl clarified. "How did you stop it?"

That familiar sparkle reappeared in his eyes and Vash grinned. "I read the manual," he said, shrugging.

Meryl felt the corner of her mouth twitch up slightly.

"Of course you did."

Vash gave her a small, genuine smile now.

His free hand reached out toward her face but Meryl recoiled automatically. When Vash's smile faltered she kicked herself for the knee-jerk reaction following Sean's attack.

"Goodnight," said Vash, suddenly colder than he'd been just moments before.

"Vash, I—"

But he was already pulling the door shut for her, locking himself out in the hall.

Meryl let her forehead fall heavily on her side of the door, squeezing her eyes shut tight and regretting that small flinch more than anything else she'd done that night.

"Thank you," she said, though she doubted Vash would hear her.

She waited there another long moment before taking a deep breath. Then the breath came out in a sigh and Meryl turned to face the room.

Without Vash's jacket Meryl found herself suddenly cold and she wished she had something other than the clothes she wore (or rather, what was left of them). She looked down at herself for the first time since they had left the stables and gasped. Her calves were covered in blood from Sean's injury and she hurried to the bathtub in the corner of the room, desperate to wash away any evidence of him. Meryl sat on the edge of the tub and didn't even wait for the water to warm up, she just scrubbed at her skin until it was pink and almost raw and the last traces of bright, red-stained water were circling the drain.

Then she stood and looked sadly down at the skirt she still wore, now rumpled and dirty, and wanted nothing more than to rip it to shreds. It was a gift from Milly, but it would only ever have the taint of the evening on it.

Even with nothing else to wear, Meryl stripped off the skirt and ruined blouse, throwing them into the corner where she wouldn't have to look at them. Chilled in just her underthings, she crossed her arms over her chest and finally faced the bed, ready to crawl under the covers and shiver herself to sleep.

Except there was a neatly folded stack of clothes on the bedspread. Curious, Meryl picked up the top garment and it unfolded in her grasp. It was a shirt, dangling from the end of one long sleeve. The other was a matching pair of pants.

Meryl knew Vash had left the clothes for her—it would certainly have been impossible to miss them while packing—and she smiled faintly at this gesture. She pulled the shirt over her head and was enveloped in that smell again, of gunpowder and grease and something sweet. She found that it helped calm her just as before, giving again that inexplicable feeling of being _safe_, and she settled the large shirt over her shoulders. It was loose, almost absurdly large for someone her size, with sleeves that dangled past her fingers. Smiling truly now, Meryl shoved the sleeves up enough that she could use both hands properly, stepping into the pants of the same soft material. These were so baggy on her frame that she could barely tighten the drawstring enough to keep the pants up over her hips.

She felt like a little girl dressing up in grown-up clothes and the thought actually made her laugh. Vash wasn't _this_ much bigger than she was; Meryl figured that these must fit even him pretty loosely, too. The fabric was soft and warm and when she curled up under the covers she tucked her nose inside the shirt's collar, breathing deeply.

She couldn't sleep, but that comfortable smell left her mind blissfully blank, keeping her from dwelling on everything that had happened. Blank except for memories of how _good_ it felt to wrap her arms around Vash and hold on tight …

After a long while Meryl realized the sky outside was brightening, slightly, and she sat up with her heart racing.

Milly slept most soundly just before dawn; this would be Meryl's best chance to try sneaking back into their room unnoticed. She had no idea what to do if Milly caught her—what would she say? What could she possibly say?

So she hurried to the door, opened it, and nearly tripped over Vash in her rush to get across the hall. Meryl caught herself on the doorframe, sucking in a quick breath and suppressing a squeak of surprise.

Vash was sitting in her doorway with his long legs splayed out across the hall in front of him, very clearly asleep. His arms were crossed and his head slumped low, his chin nearly resting on his chest, his stooped shoulders rising and falling in time with his breath.

Meryl gazed down at him and wondered if he had been there all night, standing guard.

_Well. Sitting guard._

She smiled despite herself.

And then she remembered her hurry. Meryl stepped carefully around Vash, shutting the door behind him _almost_ silently, and sneaked across the hall to the room she shared with Milly.

Their door rested on well-oiled hinges and Meryl made no noise as she slipped inside. Milly was still asleep, snoring, facing the wall, and she made no sign of noticing Meryl's entrance. Meryl scanned the room, looking for the long shirt she normally wore to bed; she needed to change out of Vash's clothes—how would she be able to explain _that?_—and into her own, quickly.

Thankfully Meryl found her shirt lying folded at the foot of the bed. She must have left it on the floor that morning, leaving Milly to pick it up for her (this was common practice, really, but Meryl still felt a pang of guilt).

Stripping off Vash's baggy clothing, Meryl shrugged into her own night shirt, glancing worriedly out the window to see the first sun just beginning to glimmer at the horizon. Still keeping silent, listening to each of Milly's snores for fear it would be the last before waking, Meryl searched the room desperately for her suitcase.

Meryl cursed inwardly to find her cloak lying across the case. She wanted to hide Vash's clothes before Milly woke, and she was running out of time. She wasn't exactly sure why she felt the need to hide them, but they were tied to the secret she wanted to keep from the younger woman, and that was reason enough.

It was delicate and painstakingly slow work to move the cloak, being careful to keep the derringers from making any noise that might wake Milly. As Meryl drew it toward her she noticed, for the first time since the showdown with the Nebraskas, the small bullet hole burned through the fabric from where Vash had fired that last shot.

She paused, the cloak only halfway across her lap, and looked down at it. She poked a finger up through the perfectly round hole in the fabric, wiggling it around a little.

Last night Vash had fired on someone again, had harmed someone to protect her. And not just to protect her, she realized. Not just to stop that man, but to _hurt_ him. Meryl had never seen Vash intentionally inflict pain on anyone, but he had done it that night. She remembered the way Vash had looked down at her attacker, that terrible fury that seemed almost to burn like fire in his eyes. And she wondered if _that_ man, who had shed another man's blood and promised him death, was the Humanoid Typhoon. _That_ man was dangerous. _That_ man was capable of horrible things.

Now she thought of every facet of him; the Idiot, the man in red, the Humanoid Typhoon.

Meryl wiggled her finger through the bullet hole again and she suddenly understood that this was what it meant to follow Vash's road with him, to face the same dangers he faced—or to face the dangers he _posed_.

She was surprised by how much it didn't scare her.

Milly suddenly gave one loud grunt of a snore and rolled over to face the room. Meryl shoved Vash's borrowed clothing unceremoniously into her suitcase and slammed it shut again before Milly could even open her eyes.

"Good morning!" Meryl chirped, giving Milly a bright smile.


	34. Episode 7, BDN, Part 1

"Good morning!" said Meryl, as Milly rolled over to face her and yawned. Meryl's smile froze awkwardly for a moment as she realized that one long sleeve of Vash's shirt was still hanging out of her suitcase. She hurriedly threw her cloak down over it again.

"Good morning, Ma'am," Milly replied, stretching as she sat up. "You're awake earl—_oh my god!_"

"What?" asked Meryl, alarmed. Milly's beaming smile had vanished into an expression of mixed shock and anxiety.

"What happened?" Milly asked, hurriedly throwing off the covers and crossing the room to peer down at Meryl. "You have a black eye!"

Meryl's fingers flew up to touch the place where Sean had struck her the night before.

_Shit._

How had she forgotten that? She must be covered in bruises…

"Oh," said Meryl, waving a hand airily as she tried to think of an excuse. "You know how the Thomas are," she said, seizing on sudden inspiration. "I woke one by accident when I tried to get a spare toothbrush and it kicked me clear across the stables!" Meryl touched her black eye again and winced, saying, "I must have hit the ground harder than I thought."

"Oh dear," said Milly, her shoulders slumping as she looked away from Meryl's eyes, thoroughly dispirited. "That's my fault, isn't it. Needing that stupid toothbrush…"

Watching Milly turn the kicked-puppy face on _herself_ was heartbreaking, and Meryl was more determined than ever that the younger woman would never know what really happened that night. If Milly blamed herself this badly for a routine Thomas attack (it really did happen often enough to Meryl to be called "routine"), Meryl didn't want to know what reaction the truth would bring.

"I'm alright, don't worry!" Meryl assured Milly, smiling. "Just a few bumps and bruises. I've had worse. Remember the one that just fell asleep while I was still riding it? It almost crushed my leg when it toppled over! I limped around for a month!"

This did make Milly give a weak smile. "What do you mean, 'limped around'?" she asked. "You made me carry you piggy-back any time you got tired!"

Both women laughed at this and Meryl was relieved when the bright smile was back on Milly's face before the younger woman had even snapped those faded yellow suspenders in place over her shoulders. Milly began her usual chatting to fill the silences Meryl left between them, but it wasn't awkward silence and chatter; it was familiar, and comfortable, and so Meryl dressed while Milly talked about more of the performers she had seen at the town market two nights ago.

When Milly packed the last of her clothes into her heavy suitcase and turned to retrieve her stungun, Meryl hurriedly balled up Vash's shirt and pants and together stuffed them into the bottom-most corner of her own luggage. As she zipped the suitcase up tight and turned to find Milly just hanging the stungun from its leather sling over her shoulder, Meryl was sure the younger woman hadn't seen.

"Shall we go, Ma'am?"

"I think we had better," said Meryl. After paying for three nights of two rooms (and board for their Thomas), they were running awfully low on funds. She stood and managed to stifle a weary sigh despite protesting muscles and aching bones from the events of the previous evening.

When she led Milly from the room and locked the door behind them, Meryl turned toward the stairs and was startled when Milly went the opposite direction. The younger woman knocked on the door of the room where Meryl had last spent the night.

"Mr. Vash?" called Milly. "Mr. Vash, are you there?" When there was no answer, Milly just shrugged and smiled. "He must have gone down for breakfast already."

"Yeah," said Meryl vaguely, her heart sinking. She already knew they wouldn't find him.

Meryl wasn't quite certain why or how, but she knew Vash would be gone after their interaction the night before. Not the attack and her rescue; Vash would have stepped in for anyone. It was what had happened after. His jacket, the embrace. And then he had reached out to her, more than just literally, and she had rebuffed him, involuntarily though it had been.

And now he was running from it.

And she wasn't going to let him get away.

If she was lucky, Vash only had a few hours' head-start. If she was _really_ lucky, he'd be on the steamer.

"Ma'am?" Milly asked, her voice from some distance. Meryl turned, surprised, to see Milly at the top of the stairs now, looking back at her in confusion; Meryl hadn't followed her from Vash's door. "Is everything alright?" Meryl could see the worry starting to take root in the younger woman's eyes again and she gave her the warmest smile she could.

"Everything's fine," Meryl assured her, hurrying to meet the younger woman. As she reached the stairs, Meryl gave one last glance toward Vash's door and tried not to panic preemptively. Maybe he _would_ be downstairs.

But she doubted it.

When they reached the saloon, it was packed with people preparing to board the departing steamer. Meryl thought it would be hard to find _anyone_ in that kind of mess. Milly, of course, immediately proved her wrong.

"Look, there's Jim!" said Milly excitedly. Meryl turned sharply as Milly waved across the room and she watched the larger man catch sight of them and go pale. He spun around and elbowed his way through the crowd, almost pushing people out of his way as he made a bee-line for the door.

"Well that wasn't very nice," Milly said, letting her hand fall back to her side as she frowned. Then she gasped, startling Meryl. "Did I say something last night that upset him?" Milly asked worriedly. "I don't remember! I was so _drunk…_"

"No, no, nothing like that," Meryl said, shaking her head. "I don't know why he'd run off without saying hello," she murmured. She would have expected Jim to leave town with Sean. She wondered if Sean was still here somewhere. She wondered if that was why Vash was missing. She wondered if…

The steamer whistle blew long and loud, and it derailed Meryl's train of thought. No, Sean was long gone by now, she was sure of it. No one would stay anywhere they had seen that terrible fury Meryl witnessed in Vash last night.

The sound of the whistle also made her realize Vash _would_ be on the steamer. It was the fastest way to skip town, and the easiest way to stay hidden. Hell, Meryl could spend a week on a steamer without being found by _anyone_, much less by people she was specifically avoiding.

This did, however, present a problem.

They had no money.

And the Thomas were gone when she and Milly reached the stables at the back of the inn.

"_Shit,_" muttered Meryl, scowling.

"What happened, Ma'am?" asked Milly.

"They must have got out…"—_and didn't come back_— "_Damn_ it," Meryl went on. "We needed the money from selling them."

"For what?" Milly asked, looking puzzled now.

"To get on the steamer," said Meryl, absently.

"Why?"

"Vash," Meryl said, by way of explanation. She was trying to think up a plan, too busy to give Milly much more to go on. _What else could they sell?_

"You think Vash is on the steamer?" Milly clarified.

"Mm," grunted Meryl, still thinking. _Could they get away with hocking that damnable typewriter?_

"But we can't afford passage," Milly reminded her.

"No." _Oh, to be rid of that infernal device…_

"We could work our fare," suggested Milly, brightly.

"What?" Meryl said, forgetting the typewriter entirely now. "I'm not sure that's a good—"

"Well, why not?" asked Milly, beaming, already leading Meryl out of the stables by the elbow. "_You_ worked steamers once, why can't I? It'll be fun!"

Meryl was still troubled by this thought and grimaced, though Milly didn't see it.

Almost nothing about Meryl's year aboard the _Gunsmoke_ had been "fun." It had been hard work, and lots of it, and ended in the loss of everything she loved. Just thinking about it now made her insides twist up, and suddenly she hoped the reason for their Thomas' disappearance was because Vash had stolen them. Then she could go by land, and not set foot on the iron whale after all…

But Milly seemed set on the idea, and for the life of her, Meryl couldn't come up with any better option. And, sadly, she _was_ convinced that Vash was somewhere aboard the steamer.

_Shit._

"Alright," sighed Meryl, pulling her elbow out of Milly's hand and taking the lead. "Just…let me handle it, okay?"

"Yes Ma'am!" agreed Milly, sounding pleased.

They followed the seemingly endless crowd of people flocking toward the steamer, carried along in its current at a slower pace than Meryl would have liked. Apparently she was beginning to show tell-tale signs of her irritation because Milly's hand fell lightly on the top of her head and stroked her hair in a familiar calming gesture. Meryl just sighed and went with the flow of the crowd.

Once they were within a hundred yarz or so of the steamer, however, Meryl pulled Milly sideways through the throng and steered them toward a slightly smaller gangplank than that which the passengers were taking. People running in and out of _this_ entrance were considerably more frantic.

"This is the cargo hold and crew boarding," Meryl told Milly. "It's our best bet for finding any work." She had a sudden flash of déjà vu, the same scene almost six years ago—only she was a lot less terrified this time around.

Then they reached the bottom of the gangplank and stepped onto it, and Milly's curiosity finally seemed to get the better of her.

"What work did you used to do?" she asked, interestedly. "Were you a stewardess?"

"_No!_" Meryl said sharply. When Milly looked taken aback at such a vehement reaction, Meryl quickly composed herself. "Sorry, I just… No, I wasn't a stewardess, I was, um…"

Thankfully the steamer gave two loud bursts from the great whistle above them—_the half-hour warning already?_—and Meryl's answer could easily have been just lost in the noise.

In truth, _stewardess_ was just a more delicate word for _whore._ True, they got paid a lot better than Meryl had, but still… Those women, most of them just as young as Meryl had been, would work in the lounges or casino during the day, and then make their real money at night, after all the bars closed and the rich men retired to their cabins.

Meryl hadn't even known of this practice, until she took a wrong turning in the night after a long shift and was propositioned by a drunken gambler who had become equally lost in the crew decks and thought he had found a stewardess to lead him back to his room. Even at sixteen, Meryl's response to such a query had been to break the man's nose. From then on, Meryl knew well enough to keep away from the passenger decks after nightfall.

"What do you want?"

A gruff voice recalled Meryl to the present, and she blinked up at a heavy-set man with an almost furiously annoyed expression. He wore a set of coveralls unzipped to the waist, the sleeves wrapped and knotted around his middle, and he was covered in sweat even in the relative shade of the crew and cargo gangplank. There was a massive clipboard tucked under one arm as he took stock of a crate full of what Meryl assumed to be live chickens, by the noise and smell of it.

"Catering, get it to catering," he snapped, waving in the two men carrying the pallet as he checked off something on his clipboard with a heavy-handed slash of ink. Then he turned his attention to Meryl and Milly again. "What do you _want?_"

Meryl knew that thirty-minutes prior to final passenger boarding was about the _worst_ possible time to interrupt a deck chief trying to take in cargo, but they were short on time and she didn't see the head steward that should have been there wrangling the steamer's large crew.

"We're looking to work our fare," said Meryl, trying to make her voice heard over the rest of the commotion around them.

"Now?" said the man, incredulously. "You're seriously asking this _now?_ Get the hell off my deck." Meryl grabbed his arm before he could turn away.

"We need to get on this steamer!" she said, angrily.

"Then buy a goddamn ticket!" replied the deck chief, sounding just as angry as Meryl felt. "Or next time get a job with the steward, BEFORE twenty minutes from last boarding!"

"Well, where's the goddamn steward?" demanded Meryl.

"I'd like to know!" roared the man. "Then I wouldn't be having to put up with your bullshit problems—"

There was a resounding _crash_ from a few yarz away that made both Meryl and Milly jump. Two men carrying a large crate of non-perishables seemed to have lost their grip and overturned it, sending canned goods sprawling across the deck.

"_Goddamn it!_" shouted the deck chief, turning to see a half-dozen tins of pickled salmon roll over the edge of the gangplank. "Fine, shit, I don't care," he said suddenly, throwing down the heavy clipboard. Meryl watched his discarded pen bounce away after the salmon. The man pointed a threatening finger at the kid who had dropped the crate, who seemed to freeze in abject terror. "You—get me the crew manifest," said the chief, pointing to the interior of the steamer. "_Now!_" he barked, when the younger man didn't immediately comply.

The deck chief took a deep breath through his nose, eyes closed, and held one hand out to the side. Meryl watched him curiously, until the kid came running back with another clipboard, this one just barely able to keep control of an even larger stack of papers. He placed it in the other man's hand, saying meekly, "Sorry, boss."

In one swift motion, the chief smacked the kid over the head with the clipboard without even having to look to aim the blow. Meryl winced for the kid as he clapped a hand to the growing bump on the top of his head, swearing under his breath as he slunk away.

"Alright, let's see," said the deck chief, considerably more calm than he had been at any time in the last ten minutes. He glanced up to look Milly head-to-toe, then gave Meryl the same once-over. "Guess we need a couple girls up on the snack bar," he grunted.

"Good, fine," said Meryl quickly. "We'll take it."

The man gave a little cough and beckoned them nearer. Meryl gestured quickly for Milly to stay back, already guessing what the man had to say.

"Standard twenty percent cut to your handler, for work on the side," he said. "And _I_ could get you the best Johns."

"Just the snack bar," Meryl said, very deliberately, giving the man her fiercest stare.

The man drew back, startled.

"Wait, seriously?" he said, incredulous. "I mean, that'll pay your fare—barely—but…" He surveyed both women again and gave a low whistle. "Either one of you could make a small fortune on this passage_._"

"_Just the snack bar,_" growled Meryl, desperate to keep Milly from hearing, baring her teeth in a snarl. The man held up his free hand in surrender.

"If you say so," he muttered, shaking his head. "That'll put you in the worst possible sleeping berths—"

"We'll manage," said Meryl, tartly.

"Fine," said the man, sighing. "Leave your bags with Butterfingers over there—" the kid had been listening in on their conversation from a short distance away and now his face flushed scarlet "—and get uniforms from Housekeeping. It's forward on the third—"

"I know where it is," interrupted Meryl, tossing her bag toward the kid. He caught it with a grunt of surprise, clearly not expecting the weight of the typewriter inside. Milly, on the other hand, walked over to the young man, smiling kindly, and set her giant suitcase at his feet. Meryl rolled her eyes at the kid's beatific grin and led Milly into the belly of the steamer.

The further they traveled down into the crew decks, the nearer they came to the coal-fired steam engines and the atmosphere around them began to get warmer and dryer. And the noise of busy crewmen and women grew louder.

"Where are we going?" Milly asked, glancing around curiously.

"The laundry," said Meryl, over her shoulder. "That's where most of the fuss will be right now."

Her prediction was proved accurate the moment they turned the corner into the corridor dedicated to the housekeeping department. The entire corridor was in disarray, people scurrying both directions, arms full to bursting with linens and other sundries, and no one seemed to pay Meryl or Milly the slightest attention as they tried to make their way to the main laundry.

Meryl immediately spotted the head of housekeeping, recognizable not only by the tell-tale yellow cap affixed to her graying hair (which was now rapidly escaping from its severe bun) but also by the shrillness of her voice and the number of younger women running _away_ from her, desperately trying to obey her barked orders.

Somehow making their way through the crowd—everyone else was trying to _escape_—Meryl and Milly managed to reach the matron.

"What do you want?" she snapped, her tone remarkably similar to the deck chief's.

"New hires," gasped Meryl. Someone had rushed by with a stack of towels and elbowed her sharply in the chest. "Need uniforms."

"Taking on _more_ of you tarts, eh?" said the matron, sneering down at Meryl (then up at Milly).

Meryl glanced sideways momentarily to see Milly's puzzled expression, then glared so fiercely at the matron that she seemed to think better of making any further comments.

"Hm," said the other woman, giving a small sort of cough. She shoved her way between two terrified girls and snatched two handfuls of fabric hanging on a long clothesline running parallel to the back wall of the laundry. The matron returned a moment later, dropping one bundle into Milly's arms and shoving the second so forcefully into Meryl's chest that she had to take a step backward. Meryl could already tell the clothes weren't yet fully dry.

She snarled, but Milly put a hand on her shoulder, saying, "Thank you, Matron." The other woman seemed surprised to hear the politeness in Milly's reply, and stumbled over her own, "You're welcome," as though she'd never had the chance to say it before.

As ever, Meryl was grateful for Milly's unwavering patience. Then she glanced down at the garments she held.

"You've got to be kidding me," said Meryl, flatly.


	35. Episode 7, BDN, Part 2

"You've got to be kidding me," said Meryl, looking down at the uniform she was expected to wear.

"Just put it on," ordered the matron, scowling. She turned away and started barking orders at anyone not already occupied, and Meryl was glad to be out of the line of fire.

"Here?" Milly asked Meryl, glancing uncertainly around the busy laundry.

"No, we'll change on the upper decks," Meryl told her. "Before we get to the snack bar." She sure as hell wasn't going to leave her cloak and derringers anywhere out of her sight. Not ever again.

Carrying the uniform clenched in one fist, Meryl led Milly up through the steamer, taking a labyrinthine path of back hallways and narrow stairways without meeting anyone else. After a few minutes, though, she was forced to turn onto one of the main thoroughfares through the steamer, a wide staircase that held crew and passengers alike, and Meryl sighed as they entered the flow of hurried bodies all trying to take the stairs at different paces.

Meryl never looked back to see if Milly was keeping up; she just always did. It was one of a hundred little things Meryl had come to appreciate about the younger woman in their travels together. So when she ducked suddenly into a narrow hall off to one side of the stairway, she knew not to wait.

"Ma'am, aren't we going to the main deck?" Milly asked a moment later, sounding puzzled.

"Yes, but there's no crew facilities on the three main passenger decks," explained Meryl, opening an unmarked door halfway down the hall. "We have to use the crew bathrooms down here."

"Well that's just silly," said Milly, shaking her head with an exasperated sigh as she followed Meryl inside.

Meryl felt around in the dark for the switch and moments later fluorescent lights flickered to life overhead. It was a tiny space, smaller even than she remembered, just large enough for a single toilet and sink and a full length mirror against the door. With Milly's height and broad shoulders it was almost too tight a squeeze for the both of them but it was, thankfully, immaculately clean.

Milly set her stun-gun down in the corner behind the sink as Meryl shook out both uniform pieces in turn (each was still somewhat damp, as she had suspected): the top was a faded yellow blouse with a pressed collar and long sleeves, and the bottom…

"I can't wear this," Meryl said, shaking her head.

"It is a bit…short," admitted Milly. She held the uniform skirt flat against her legs and peered down at it.

"It's a _bandage_ with _pleats_," said Meryl, grimacing.

Suddenly she shivered, unexpectedly cold, feeling a small gust of frigid air from nowhere. Meryl looked around curiously, and then glanced up to see a ceiling panel out of alignment. Meryl frowned up at it and noticed a small triangular gap where the panel should have fallen into its place.

"Hey, Milly," she said, tugging at the younger woman's sleeve (Milly had already donned the faded yellow blouse). "Can you fix that for me?" Meryl pointed upward and Milly's eyes followed.

"What, the ceiling?" Milly asked, confused.

"Just that panel," Meryl specified, standing on her toes now to be a few iches closer. "See how it doesn't lay properly on the frame? It's supposed to be flush with the rest of the ceiling."

"Ohh, I see," said Milly. She didn't even need to stretch to reach the panel, gently maneuvering it into place with the fingers of one hand. "My goodness, that's cold," she said, blowing warm air on her fingers once she had drawn them away again.

"They pump all the cold air up to the first-class passenger decks, to keep the rich folk comfortable," Meryl said. Then she muttered, "That's why it's so damn hot in crew quarters."

"Ah," said Milly, buttoning the cuffs on her blouse. "Well, _there's_ something to look forward to." Meryl looked at the younger woman, surprised. It was the first time, or so she could remember, that she had ever heard Milly use _sarcasm._

There was another loud blast from the steamer whistle, and Meryl winced; it must be just above them, with how it made the whole room vibrate. She had to wait for her vision to clear again after seeing everything go blurry for a moment.

"Quick," said Meryl, shucking her tunic. "That's last call for boarding. We should be up there already." Her own blouse came off next, and when she put on that of the uniform she was infuriated to find that it only buttoned up to the middle of her chest, leaving an absurd amount of skin and (admittedly, fairly modest) cleavage visible. She snarled and pulled the maroon skirt on over her indigo leggings, and, after an uncomfortable moment remembering what had happened with the _last_ skirt, decided to leave them on, despite the severe disparity in color schemes.

Milly frowned down at Meryl's leggings as she pulled on her own skirt, but said nothing.

"I'll freeze without them!" snapped Meryl. She knew she was being overly hostile, but she also knew she'd never tell Milly why she was really unwilling to part with the leggings. She just felt too…_vulnerable. _And she _never_ wanted to feel that way again.

Wrapping her blouse, tunic and cloak into a tightly folded bundle she could fit under one arm, Meryl led Milly out of the crew bathrooms and up three more flights of stairs to the main deck.

She had to ask two different stewards to point them in the right direction (and both of them frowned openly at her leggings), but when Meryl saw the snack bar kiosk she let out an almost manic giggle of relief; two maroon aprons were hanging side by side behind the counter.

"Oh thank god," she said, hurrying into the kiosk. Meryl tucked the bundle of blouse, tunic and cloak under the counter and then seized an apron. She threw it over her head and settled it across her body, reaching for the ties behind her. "At least this will cover—" She stopped abruptly as she looked down at it properly. "Are you _kidding_ me?" Meryl practically shrieked. The apron fell even shorter than the skirt; she had basically just fastened a halter top over the blouse she already wore.

Meryl thought the grinding of her teeth must certainly be audible at this point and was unsurprised when Milly's hand fell to smooth out her hair once the younger woman had fastened her own "apron" (Meryl used the term loosely, now) around her waist.

"It's not _so_ bad, Ma'am," sighed Milly, tugging at her own apron, clearly aware of what was bothering Meryl. "At least we're behind the counter. Oh look!"

Milly bent down and retrieved something from one of the shelves behind the counter. When she stood upright again she offered Meryl one of two folded paper hats; maroon to match the apron, with pale trim that _almost_ matched the color of their faded yellow blouses.

"No thanks," said Meryl vehemently, but Milly was already pulling the paper hat open and had it settled over Meryl's hair in a matter of moments. Meryl just sighed heavily and tried not to fuss too much, feeling the paper hat jostling and slipping every time she moved. Milly seemed to have fastened hers on with some kind of girl-magic Meryl had never learned, and now she could probably face gale-force winds and walk away looking entirely unruffled.

Meryl grimaced. Her hat slipped off.

Their first customers arrived as Meryl stooped to retrieve the hat and she forced a smile as she faced an elderly man wearing a bowler hat.

"Can I help you?" asked Milly, smiling brightly.

"Could I have two bags of chips and some milk?" asked the man. Milly went to the ice box to retrieve the milk and the man turned to Meryl, pulling out his wallet.

"Oh, uh," said Meryl, realizing she didn't actually know what to do. There was an old wooden till to the left of the counter and she stood before it, fingers hovering uncertainly over the keys. Then she noticed a piece of paper taped to the till's cash drawer with prices carefully written in now-faded blue ink, and searched for the items she needed: $$2.00 for a carton of milk; $$1.25 for a bag of potato chips. Meryl punched the numbers into the till's keys, just like she would into the typewriter's (with the same annoying tendency to get her fingers stuck), and the drawer popped open with a bell chime as a total price appeared on the till's face.

"$$4.50!" Milly told the man, brightly. She handed over the milk and potato chips as Meryl accepted a five double-dollar bill. Meryl reached into the till for the half-double-dollar difference, but the old man just smiled and winked at her.

"Keep the change."

Meryl stood stunned for a moment as the man retreated, but Milly took the coin from her hand and put it in a small, empty pickle jar at the side of the till, labeled, "TIPS." Meryl looked up to the next person in line, a middle-aged woman with flaming red hair.

"Can I help you?" Milly asked, but the woman just laughed and shook her head, pointing down.

Two small hands appeared over the edge of the counter in front of Meryl and she leaned forward to peer down past them. A little girl in pigtails and denim overalls stood there, barely able to touch the counter top but clearly excited to reach even that far.

"Ice cream!" she ordered, grinning up at Meryl and bouncing on her toes. Then she added, "Please?" as though only then remembering her manners.

Meryl laughed, and asked, "What flavor?" She glanced back to the ice box, reading the labels. "We have—"

"CHOCOLATE!"

The whole line of people behind the girl laughed at her enthusiasm, and Meryl nodded as Milly retrieved the ice cream for her, saying, "Here you go!" The girl stood on her tip-toes to take the cone carefully in one hand, treating it with almost reverent care as she fell back on her heels again. She dug her other hand into the pocket of her overalls and reached up to empty a fistful of coins on the counter. Meryl slapped her palm down on a half-double-dollar that rolled toward escape on the opposite edge of the snack bar.

"Thanks!" called the girl, racing away.

"Wait," said Milly, worriedly, "is this enough…?"

Meryl scanned the spread of coins quickly before dipping into the tip jar to retrieve the half-double-dollar the man had left them and pouring the whole lot into the till. "Would you really have minded?" she asked, smiling. Milly just beamed back at her.

"Good morning ladies and gentlemen," boomed a deep voice, emanating unexpectedly from the wall speakers scattered throughout the deck. Meryl felt Milly give a start next to her. "Welcome aboard the _S.S. Flourish_. It's a quick trip to our next stop, a transfer station about a day and a half west of here, but we'll be going through Lottenburg Canyon, and that can get a little bumpy—" here the man gave a little chuckle as he went on, saying, "—but hopefully you'll sleep right through it. We're about to get under way here within the next few minutes, so have a seat while we get up to speed. And as always, don't hesitate to ask our service staff for _anything_ to make your passage with us more comfortable."

Meryl grimaced inwardly at that last comment. They really did mean _anything_.

The man signed off with a loud _beeeeep_ from the intercom system, and Meryl watched the line before the kiosk evaporate as everyone hurried away from the deck's main floor toward the many seating areas along the bulkheads.

The floor beneath Meryl's feet began to vibrate in anticipation as the engines came to life a dozen decks below; _she _could feel it, even so far away from the fires and gears and pistons that would push the steamer forward. Soon the power of the engines would be greater even than weight of the steamer and it would send the huge ship lurching into motion. Somehow, even now, it was still an exciting feeling.

In old habits easily remembered, Meryl settled herself into a wide stance with all her weight forward on one foot slightly ahead of the other. When it came, the initial lurch of the steamer pushed her back onto the rear foot without unbalancing her.

Milly, on the other hand, went sprawling with an undignified squawk.

"Golly," she said, sitting up on her elbows with a frown.

"Are you alright?" Meryl asked, trying not to laugh at the younger woman's look of utter bewilderment. She knelt at Milly's side and helped her up to her feet again, watching the girl steady herself on the edge of the counter as the steamer kept accelerating.

Meryl noted, with a twinge of annoyance, that the paper hat was still perched pristinely on Milly's head.

"Why didn't you sit down like the captain said?" Meryl asked.

"Well, _you_ didn't," said Milly, defensively.

"Yeah, but I—wait, is this your first time on a steamer?" asked Meryl, surprised. Milly was blushing as she clung to the snack bar counter.

"Yes," she admitted, still looking embarrassed. "I didn't expect…the _oomph._"

Meryl couldn't help smiling.

"Yeah, well," said Meryl. "I've had a lot of practice."

"How long did you work on steamers?" asked Milly, and Meryl thought she could hear a hint of hesitation, though the younger woman didn't show it in her expression. Meryl wondered if Milly was testing the waters now, finding out just how much she could ask about _this_ aspect of Meryl's past, at least.

"Just a year," said Meryl eventually, not meeting Milly's eye. "Though it felt like a lifetime," she murmured, staring into the middle distance for a moment as old memories came unwillingly to mind.

When Meryl finally glanced away from her past and back up at Milly, the younger woman looked troubled and Meryl gave her what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

"But that was a lifetime ago," said Meryl, shrugging. "I was just a kid—it was a phase, I grew out of it." Her smile tightened. She had done a lot of growing up that year. Fifteen, going on world-weary…

"What did you do?" asked Milly, apparently a little braver in her questioning, following Meryl's answer. "Where did you work?"

"I worked…below-decks," Meryl replied, keeping things vague as ever. She wasn't sure why she was hiding things from Milly. It was an easy excuse to say that actually _talking_ about her past would bring up bad memories, but she was thinking about the past plenty, even without telling Milly anything. But she kept avoiding the subject anyway.

"In the laundry?" asked Milly, curiously. "Housekeeping? No, wait!" she looked excited, grabbing Meryl's elbow. "In the kitchens! That's where you learned to cook so well!" Milly beamed, certain of her guesswork.

Meryl opened her mouth to answer—though to answer _what_, she didn't know—but the captain's voice boomed over the loudspeaker once more to announce that the steamer was up to speed, and that the passengers were free to move about the deck again. The line for the snack bar reformed almost immediately and soon Milly was too busy running back and forth ferrying items from the shelves to the customers to ask Meryl anything at all.

Meryl found she liked working the till, which surprised her, given the obvious similarities to the typewriter. But she liked the little bell-chime whenever the cash drawer opened, and it was satisfying to see the double-dollar bills piling up as the morning went on.

There was _finally_ a lull in traffic in the early afternoon, after everyone was full from lunch and had no need of snacks. Meryl sighed, standing on one foot and rolling her other around until the ankle popped loudly. She sighed and repeated the action for the other ankle. Then she popped her neck (which made Milly wince), then cracked every knuckle in each hand, in turn, until Milly looked like she was ready to put her in a headlock just to make her stop. Milly's hands actually jerked forward as Meryl stretched her arms behind her to pop her spine, but the movement made Meryl's hat fall off again and she ducked out of range to retrieve it.

When Meryl stood again, jamming the hat onto her head so forcefully she felt it rip somewhere, she found herself face to face with Vash. She saw her own surprise mirrored in his eyes as they both took a startled step backward, away from each other.

"You—" Vash spluttered, seemingly at a loss for words. Meryl recognized anxiety in his expression, and she realized that Vash honestly didn't expect to find her on the steamer. He didn't _want_ to find her on the steamer.

For some reason, that thought made her guts twist up a little. She stared at him, wanting to say _something_, but then Milly hailed him—("Mr. Vash!")—and his face split in a wide, Idiot grin as he turned to greet the younger woman.

"Insurance Girls!" he said, sounding just as enthusiastic as Milly. "What are you two doing here?"

"We're broke!" explained Milly, laughing. "We're working our fare."

"Ahh," said Vash, nodding wisely. "Here's some work for you, then: " He scanned the shelves behind where Meryl and Milly stood, narrowing his eyes and pursing his lips, stroking his chin as if he had a beard, clearly giving some serious thought to his order. "Two bacon-lettuce dogs, two cartons of milk, four bags of pretzels, and one pack of raisins," he said, finally. He looked at Meryl and raised an eyebrow. "You got all that?"

Meryl glared at him and tried not to make it too obvious that she still needed to use the cheat-sheet of prices taped to the register's cash drawer. Behind her, Milly moved with practiced efficiency, gathering all the desired items from the shelves in a single trip.

"$$12.50," Meryl told Vash, when the total appeared on the till's face. She eyed the pile of snacks and drinks Milly was now loading into a paper sack. "Seems like an awful lot," she noted, suspiciously.

"I'm hungry," Vash said, defensively, hugging the bag to his chest as he handed Meryl the money—in all coins.

"You've got to be—" Meryl cut off with a growl. Vash might be able to hold 25 half-double-dollars in one hand but Meryl sure couldn't, and she had to struggle to catch them as Vash let the coins fall.

"Have a nice day, Mr. Vash!" Milly said, beaming.

"Thanks!" he said, waving as he turned to walk away. "Oh, and," Vash added, looking back over his shoulder at Meryl. His eyes flicked up to the area above her head for a moment and he gave her a lop-sided grin: "Nice hat."

Meryl scowled and poured the coins he'd given her into the till, slamming the drawer shut and startling the next customer in line.

"Um," said the man. He looked at Meryl in some trepidation. "Just an orange soda, please." Milly retrieved it as Meryl rang him up.

"Two double-dollars…" Meryl trailed off. Over the man's shoulder she had noticed Vash turning the corner toward the first-class passenger cabins.

_What the hell…?_

"Milly, hold the fort for a minute," she said, discarding her paper hat as she stepped out from behind the counter.

"Ma'am, wait—what?" But Meryl was following Vash at a half-jog, and she was out of earshot before Milly could say anything else. She hugged the wall, trying not to look too conspicuous (in a bandage with pleats and mis-matched leggings), and turned the corner where Vash had disappeared. He was already letting himself into the room at the very end of the hall by the time Meryl caught up to him.

"What are you doing here?" Meryl hissed. Vash jumped and nearly lost half the contents of his bag as he turned to Meryl, eyes wide in surprise. "These are the first-class cabins," she went on, tersely. "You can't possibly afford this!"

The initial startled look at her arrival dissolved into a grin as Vash looked down at her, shrugging.

"I'm working my fare, same as you," he said.

For a ridiculous moment, Meryl let herself imagine that Vash was "working his fare" in the—hm—_traditional_ sense. She smirked, but then immediately sobered as she had an unsettling thought: what if he _was?_ That was easily enough food for two, after all, and there was definitely no way he could afford this kind of room on his own…

"Whose room is this?" Meryl demanded.

"What?" asked Vash, looking confused. Then, defiantly, "It's mine!" The door was only open a few iches but he was pulling it shut again behind him. Meryl narrowed her eyes and jammed her foot in the door before he could close it.

"Who's in there?" She tried to push her way into the room but Vash blocked her path—and her view—and kept the paper bag of snacks between them as a buffer.

"Nobody!" he said, looking at her like she was crazy. "Leave me alone! Don't you have a job to do?"

As if cued by these words, Milly appeared at Meryl's shoulder.

"Ma'am!" said Milly reprovingly. She actually shook her finger at Meryl, and then took her by the elbow, saying, "You can't just run off like that!" Then Milly beamed at Vash as she pulled Meryl protesting down the hall. "Sorry, Mr. Vash, but we have to get back to work. We'll talk to you later!"

"Uh—yeah!" said Vash, waving after them. Meryl last saw him grinning, but when they turned the corner, she was pretty sure she heard Vash mutter, "…great."

There was a little sign propped up on the counter when they returned to the kiosk, with the words, "_will return in five minutes_" printed in bright blue letters above a clock face, with little red paper hour- and minute-hands pointing to—well, to _now_, actually.

Thankfully there wasn't much of a line by the time Meryl and Milly had resumed their places behind the counter; there was only a trio of teenage girls, standing a little ways off, and they didn't seem to have decided what they wanted yet. It looked like they were pooling their money, trying to find out exactly how much money they could afford to spend between the three of them.

Finally, after a lot of quiet, giggled arguing, one of the girls came up to the snack bar counter.

"Can I get a fifth of rum, please?" she asked.

Milly turned toward the liquor cabinet but Meryl caught her wrist without even looking.

"Sorry, honey," said Meryl. "I'm not selling to minors."

The girl tried to look insulted and managed to at least seem upset.

"What," she said, giving Meryl an incredulous look. "I'm nineteen."

"Uh-huh," replied Meryl, leaning her elbows on the counter. "When's your birthday?"

The girl's mouth opened in surprise, but no answer came out. Meryl smirked.

"Grow up, or get sneakier," Meryl told the girl. She pulled a root beer from the ice box and tossed it to her. "On me," she said.

Once the girls had gone (all three of them looking sheepish), there was no line at the kiosk and Meryl found herself bored. Night was falling outside the tiny porthole windows of the steamer and Meryl wondered how much longer she and Milly would have to stay at the snack bar, standing uselessly, growing more tired and more—in her case, anyway—cranky. Surely the leisure decks couldn't stay open _that _much longer. The casinos would have to shut down _eventually_.

Meryl rubbed her hand over her face tiredly, and eventually found herself dwelling on thoughts of Vash, and that first-class cabin, and the amount of food he had bought…

Then Meryl scowled.

What did _she_ care if Vash was "paying his way" in some rich woman's bed?

Not one bit, that's what. Not one goddamn bit.

Meryl realized she had crossed her arms so tightly across her chest that she was almost suffocating herself, not letting her ribcage expand enough to take breath. She let her hands fall stiffly to her sides and took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly through her nose.

_Not one goddamn bit._

The paper hat slipped off her hair again and Meryl caught it as it fell, fighting the urge to just growl and shred it to bits with her teeth. Milly seemed to have noticed that Meryl was at the very end of her already limited patience and took pity on her.

"Here, Ma'am," said Milly gently, plucking the hat from Meryl's fingers. "I'll pin it in place for you."

"_Pins?_" squeaked Meryl, her anger gone instantly in the face of alarm. She ducked out of range as Milly approached her.

"_Bobby _pins," Milly said, shaking her head in exasperation. "Honestly, didn't your mother ever do this with your hair when you were little?"

"My mother never did anything with m—my hair," said Meryl, stumbling over something else. At the abashed look Milly gave her, Meryl wished she'd just kept her mouth shut.

"Oh—I," spluttered Milly, going pink. "I'm sorry, Ma'am—I didn't mean to—"

Meryl hadn't meant to fluster the younger woman, but it was clear Milly thought she had come too close this time to the subject of Meryl's past. She back-pedaled quickly, smiling again as she held a small metal object the size of a toothpick out for Meryl to see.

"It's not really a _pin_," explained Milly, "like the pointy kind, or anything. More like a clip, to keep your hair—"

"Oh is _that _what those are for?" Meryl said, suddenly recognizing the shape. She pulled the bobby pin from Milly's fingers and bent it partly open—much to Milly's dismay ("Oh—oh, dear…")—to a more recognizable configuration, biting off the resin caps that blunted the ends and making a sharp, right-angle about half an ich from one end. Meryl smiled to herself, twirling this new shape between thumb and forefinger.

"What is…what did you think…?" Milly tried, and failed. "What did _you_ use them for?" she asked, managing to sound politely interested, rather than upset that Meryl had just ruined one of her belongings.

"We'd find them on the floors up here and then make these, it's how we'd uhhhh—" Meryl stalled in mid-sentence, realizing it was _her_ turn to back-pedal now. "—it's just a tool," she finished, trying to sound casual. "Y'know, useful. Lots of little things." She cleared her throat with a forced cough and, for lack of pockets (_blasted skirt_), tucked the bent bobby pin behind her ear.

Milly still looked puzzled, almost distrustful, but she produced another few bobby pins and fastened the paper hat solidly into Meryl's hair, humming as she did so. Meryl wondered if Milly was actively trying not to ask any more questions.

Thankfully it wasn't too long before someone appeared at the kiosk counter, and Meryl welcomed the distraction.

The man who stood there was dressed like a steward, and though the uniform fit him perfectly, he was much too burly to actually _be_ a steward. Meryl guessed that he must be working as a bouncer for one of the lounge casinos, and hoped that his being _out_ of the casino meant that things were wrapping up for the evening.

She was delighted to hear the man say, "Shift's over." His voice seemed as big as his body, and Meryl felt again like she had when the steamer whistle blew, the sound resonating through everything around her. "We're closing up," said the man. "It's time to go, ladies."

Meryl unceremoniously plucked the hat (which Milly had so painstakingly pinned in place) from her hair and pulled the apron over her head, discarding both items on a shelf behind the kiosk. She retrieved her cloak and _real_ clothes from the cubby under the kiosk counter and urged Milly to hurry as she stepped out from behind the snack bar and made an immediate bee-line toward the first-class cabins and (supposedly) Vash's room. She wanted to know what the hell he was doing there, and she wanted to know _now._

Before she could make her way more than a few yarz, someone seized Meryl's elbow.

"Whoa, hold on," said the man holding her. Here was another beefy steward-bouncer, coming from the opposite direction. "Where do you think you're going? Crew has to clear out of the passenger decks for the night."

"I need to find someone," Meryl said, trying to peel the man's fingers away from her elbow.

"It can wait," said the man, securing his grip again.

"I just need to talk to somebody," argued Meryl, still fighting the man's hold.

"Yeah, okay, just _wait,_" he said, giving her a very pointed look. Meryl suddenly realized the man was telling her to mind that unwritten rule, to wait that hour it took to be sure the steamer's main decks were cleared out entirely, to wait that hour before she could sneak back up here again in the dark for the (not strictly sanctioned) "after hours" shift.

She gritted her teeth and tried not to growl as she said, "Fine." She yanked her arm free and glared so fiercely at the man that it actually hurt her forehead to scowl with such intensity.

"Is everything alright, Ma'am?" asked Milly, glancing uncertainly at the pair of steward-bouncers as Meryl stomped away in the opposite direction.

"_Fine_," she repeated.


	36. Episode 7, BDN, Part 3

Meryl walked stiffly away from the snack bar, silently seething. What bothered her wasn't so much that the steward-bouncer had denied her the opportunity to find Vash, as it was the assumption she would sell her body to him. Milly hurried to catch up, having needed to retrieve her stun-gun from behind the counter, and now she quickly smoothed out Meryl's hair, flattening and tidying it where bobby pins had held the paper hat in place. Meryl was glad of the familiar gesture and relaxed a little.

The main deck was already empty by the time they had crossed the open floor and turned the corner toward the casinos. There the doors were closed and blocked, each by a pair of those beefy steward-bouncers. The crowd of gamblers was dispersing slowly, though, and Meryl could see why.

More than a dozen stewardesses were still mixed in with the crowd, each carrying a tray and accepting empty glasses as gamblers finished their drinks. Meryl watched many of the girls in furtive conversation with one of these men, making arrangements, and in one instance she actually saw money changing hands.

Meryl smirked.

_Poor bastard._

That girl was going to pocket his money and disappear.

One time in a hundred a man would be foolish enough to pay up front, and that girl hit just the jackpot. She vanished into the crowd, becoming just another short skirt and low-cut blouse, and Meryl knew that man would never see her again.

She and Milly were engulfed by the exodus now, their progress impeded, and Meryl considered just making a break for Vash's room after all. As if he could read her thoughts, one of the steward-bouncers she had already encountered appeared from nowhere, blocking her path entirely. He stared coolly at Milly's stun-gun for a long moment, but then nodded toward the end of the hall, silently ushering them toward the crew stairs. Meryl scowled again, but turned and led Milly away as directed.

"Do we know where our bags are?" Milly asked Meryl as they joined a stream of crewmen and women descending the stairs. "That boy at the loading dock—he just ran off with them."

"I have a guess," said Meryl. "Assuming that kid was lazy as he looked, he'll have just thrown them in the nearest empty storage."

"And you know where that is?" asked Milly, hopefully.

"Yep."

The line moved slowly for the first five decks. It was a narrow staircase and there were no crew galleys or bunk rooms until F-deck, and only then did the crowd start to thin out. Meryl kept leading Milly down toward the crew and cargo loading deck, and by the time she turned from the stairs and down a narrow corridor there was no one else to follow them.

"Here's the loading dock," said Meryl, pressing her palm against the huge doors that would open wide to take in supplies whenever the steamer pulled in to port. "There are about a dozen storage units along this corridor, they have to be in here somewhere."

Meryl was relieved to find that none of the units, most of them the size of a small warehouse, were locked. After they found no sign of their luggage in the first two units, they decided to split up and cover ground more quickly. Meryl was digging through a room that mixed pallets of non-perishables with crates of spare engine parts, and she wanted to find the steamer's stores clerk and strangle him.

_What the hell kind of Jack Dusty lets his shit get this disorganized?_

"Ma'am, I've found them!" called Milly, and Meryl stopped trying to squeeze between two crates to get to the back of the room. She picked her way out to the corridor again and pulled the overhead door down carefully, trying to keep it from slamming into the floor.

Meryl had been half right; the unit where Milly led her wasn't at all near to the loading dock, but it _was_ completely empty, save for their luggage. She knelt down and opened her suitcase, unrolling her cloak and retrieving her blouse and tunic, tucking them in a small compartment separate from her clean clothes. Meryl realized she and Milly didn't have spare uniforms and would have to wear the same again tomorrow. She gritted her teeth, annoyed with the matron who had harassed them earlier.

Milly had stowed her clothes away, too, and was standing to fasten her stun-gun sling over her shoulder again. Meryl put a hand on her arm.

"Sorry, Milly, no stun-gun," she told her.

"Ma'am?" asked Milly, startled.

"There'll be no room for it a bunk room, I can guarantee you," said Meryl, shaking her head.

"I don't like to leave it," Milly said, anxiously. She looked pleadingly at Meryl, and Meryl wished she could say differently.

"I know how you feel," she said. _You have no idea._ "But you can't take it tonight."

Milly hesitated, torn, and Meryl really, _really_ knew how she felt.

"Okay," said Milly, finally. She tucked the stun-gun back into the corner of the storage room and arranged their luggage in front to hide it.

"In the morning we'll find somewhere to fit everything, I promise. For now, just bring something to sleep in," Meryl told her. She herself had already dug her nightshirt out of her suitcase and now she wrapped it in her cloak. Her derringers were _definitely_ coming. In an effort to cheer Milly, she smiled up at the younger woman and said, "How about we find something to eat?"

Milly's stomach growled audibly and Meryl laughed.

Meryl knew exactly where to find the crew galley she frequented when she was on the _Gunsmoke_—it wasn't far from here, really—but she led Milly up several decks away from it, hoping to find one more appropriate for their current crew status.

She could smell it before she found it; bland though it was, she recognized the aroma of canned potato stew, and she led Milly straight to the nearest crew galley. When they entered, Meryl was surprised to see it so crowded. It was a tiny room in itself, containing just a pantry, a small ice box, a few cupboards and a central table. Eight stewardesses were already inside, and they looked toward the door when she and Milly entered. Most of them looked just as surprised to see them.

"Hullo," said one girl, sitting on a counter at the back of the room. She was blowing on a cup of what had to be the potato stew. "Well, c'mon in, you're in the right place," she said, beckoning them in further.

"You're on the snack bar, right?" asked the nearest girl, who was probably around Milly's age and the oldest in the room. She was leaning against the table with a sandwich in hand. "You working tonight?"

"No," said Meryl, before Milly could answer (or ask) anything.

"Bad luck," said the girl, shrugging in knowing sympathy as she took another bite of the sandwich. Meryl finally noticed a jar of mayonnaise and a tin of salmon both lying open on the table behind the girl, next to a loaf of bread. When another girl appeared in the galley, she made a bee-line for the table and piled all the remaining salmon onto her sandwich.

"Nan just got a freebie, she could use someone to cover her casino shift tomorrow," said a small girl, barely sixteen, sitting on the counter across from Meryl. She hooked her thumb toward another girl, who was rummaging through the ice box a few feet away. "You might have more luck working a table."

Nan, previously buried head and shoulders in the ice box, looked around now and nodded, and Meryl recognized her as the girl she had seen earlier, being paid up front.

"I'd owe you one," said Nan. She had found an unopened jar of pickles and brought it to the table, though she seemed to be having some difficulty prizing it open. "Either of you ever dealt blackjack?"

"Sorry," said Meryl. Milly shook her head, but then she stepped forward, reaching across the table to take the pickle jar from Nan. She unscrewed the lid and Meryl heard the quiet _pop_ as Milly broke the air-tight seal.

"Oh," said Nan, looking surprised as Milly handed her the jar again. "Thanks!" The girl set the pickles on the counter behind her and then hopped up to sit next to it. She drew the jar into her lap and fished around for a pickle spear, biting into it with a satisfying _crunch._

"I'm off tomorrow, Nan, I can take your shift," said the girl who had last come in. She took a bite of her over-stuffed sandwich and had to catch some of the salmon that tried to escape out the other side. Meryl's stomach grumbled enviously.

Another pair of girls came into the galley together, laughing, and now Meryl counted eleven in all—thirteen with her and Milly. It was a tight squeeze for the lot of them to fit and Meryl shepherded Milly further into the tiny galley to make room.

"Hi!" said the girl bringing up the rear, when she spotted Meryl and Milly. "You girls new?"

"Obviously," said the first girl Meryl had spoken to, her voice dry. "Haven't seen them in here before, have you?"

"Oh, shut up, Allie," said the girl, punching the other—Allie—playfully in the arm.

"What happened to all the salmon?" asked the other newcomer, holding the empty tin upside-down.

"Paige," chorused all the girls that had already been there when Meryl and Milly had arrived. They all pointed at the girl who had taken the last of it.

Paige shrugged and mumbled something through a large mouthful of sandwich, but it didn't sound apologetic.

"I'll get another," Allie announced, turning to walk to the back of the room. "S'cuse," she said, brushing past Meryl. When she returned to the table, Allie opened the tin with an ancient, claw-style can opener with a practiced ease that impressed Meryl. She was utterly useless with one of those.

Both girls who had just entered made sandwiches for themselves, and the second used the very last of the mayonnaise, scraping intently at the bottom of the jar.

"Go on, love," said Allie, nudging Milly with her elbow. "Help yourself, there's plenty to go—"

"Oh shit!" said Paige, suddenly glancing up to the clock on the back wall of the galley. "I gotta run, I'm in first class A-deck tonight. Here," she said, and Meryl was startled to find half a sandwich thrust into her hands as Paige hurried past her toward the door.

Meryl wasn't complaining though; the sandwich was still full to bursting with salmon. Her stomach grumbled again, in anticipation this time.

"I'm A-deck too," said one of the first girls Meryl had seen.

"And me," said a third.

The girl who had used the last of the mayonnaise sighed heavily. "I'll eat on the way, I guess."

Meryl spoke up before anyone else could leave: "Is anyone here going to first class B-deck? 219?"

The stewardesses who remained all shook their heads, most with mouths full, and though Milly looked at her curiously no one made comment on Meryl's query.

She wasn't really sure how she should feel about that answer; if someone _was_ going to Vash's room, Meryl might have made a deal to take her place and confront him right now. If not…_was_ he with someone already?

And goddamn it, why should she _care?_

Besides, this was just one small group of stewardesses; who knew how many others were all over the steamer, preparing for their next shift…

"Well, come on girls," said one of the last girls to enter. Meryl didn't know her name. She took the last bite of her sandwich and brushed the crumbs off her skirt as she turned to look at the clock again. "Anyone else working tonight had better get upstairs pretty soon."

The rest (save Nan and two others) looked at the clock too, and each either hurriedly finished her food or passed the last of it on to one of the remaining girls, as Paige had done for Meryl.

Milly had been handed a steaming bowl of potato stew and she looked delighted, thanking the girl as she disappeared into the corridor. Meryl took a bite of her half-sandwich as Milly slurped quietly at the stew, and she thought she could hear the younger woman echo her own satisfied sigh. It turned out Meryl had been _starving,_ and just too busy to notice.

The galley had emptied in a rush and now there was silence in the room as she and Milly and the last three stewardesses ate steadily, without interruption for needless chatter. When Meryl finished what was left of the sandwich, Milly paused with the soup spoon halfway to her mouth, evidently waiting for this opportunity to speak.

"Are _we_ going up to Mr. Vash's room?" she asked, startling Meryl.

"What? No!" Meryl said, automatically, still thinking in terms of the night shift. "I mean, yes," she went on, shaking her head as she tried to change gears again. "Yes, but not tonight."

Milly looked puzzled, but the excuse Meryl gave the younger woman was that she was just too damn tired. It was perfectly true, too, but really Meryl just didn't want to get to Vash's room and find she was…interrupting anything.

"Are you all—" Meryl gestured toward the door, to convey all the girls who had left earlier "—in the same bunk room?" she asked of the remaining three. They all nodded and Meryl cursed under her breath.

"Sorry," said Nan. "But there's a half-empty housekeeping cabin, aft and two decks down, if you want to try your luck."

"They won't take well to getting woke up," warned a girl at the back of the galley.

"They can stuff it," Meryl said vehemently, and all three girls laughed. "I'm—_we're_ exhausted," Meryl corrected herself with a nod to Milly. "And we're taking the nearest bunks available."

"Alright, good luck," Nan told them. "Down two decks and about 50 yarz aft, starboard facing out, I'm afraid. You know what to look for?" Meryl nodded. "I'll leave the bread out," Nan said, "and there's more salmon in the pantry if you like." She pointed to a large cabinet at the back wall, and then pressed the open jar of pickles into Milly's hands before sliding off the counter and onto her feet.

"Did you get enough to eat?" asked Milly, worriedly.

"Don't worry," said Nan, grinning as she disappeared into the corridor after the others. "That was dessert!"

Then Meryl and Milly were alone in the galley, and they shared a glance and a sigh that could have summed up the whole of their day. Meryl snagged a pickle spear from the jar in Milly's hands and took a bite. Then she made a face and discarded the rest; far too much dill.

"Ma'am!" said Milly, frowning down at her and catching the pickle before it fell in the galley trash bin. She bit into it and said, "You're wasting perfectly good—oh." Now Milly made a face, and she bent over the trash bin to spit the pickle out.

Meryl laughed and Milly gave her the tamest stink-eye Meryl had ever seen. Milly carefully screwed the lid back on the jar and set it on the counter, pushing the pickles away across the surface and as far from them as possible.

"Are you still hungry?" Meryl asked, trying to stifle more laughter. Milly's stomach grumbled again and Meryl took that as answer enough. She found another tin of salmon in the pantry and eventually managed to cut it open using the antiquated can opener Allie had left on the table.

Milly dutifully made sandwiches for them both as Meryl cleaned up the mess she had made struggling with the can opener. She accepted the sandwich from Milly with a grateful sigh and they ate again in silence, too focused on food to bother with conversation.

"So I guess you didn't work in a kitchen," Milly said, suddenly. "This is a lot more…self-serve than I expected." She looked disappointed.

"Oh, no," said Meryl, laughing. "This isn't—these aren't _really_ galleys, in the strictest sense. This is more like the snack bar, something quick, to tide you over. There are _huge_ kitchens, down toward the heat of the boiler room, to make proper meals. Some goes up to passenger dining rooms, and then there are crew mess halls off each kitchen. We'll go for breakfast tomorrow, I promise."

"Oh!" said Milly, looking pleased again. "That'll be fun!"

They finished their sandwiches and left the not-quite-a-galley, following Nan's directions toward the bunk room. Meryl led the way down into the steamer again and Milly nearly bowled her over when Meryl finally stopped outside a small hatch door set halfway along a row of larger, normally-sized doors.

"Oops—sorry, Ma'am!" she said, catching Meryl by the elbow before she hit the metal plating of the deck. Meryl thanked her, and then turned to face the hatch door.

The bare light bulb mounted on the wall above the door was dim and flickering uncertainly in a way that made Meryl's head hurt. It took her a moment for her eyes to really adjust but she eventually found what she was looking for: the number 7 was inscribed on the door in white chalk. Meryl rubbed it off with her sleeve and then tried to brush the white powder off with the other hand, though the chalk was nearly indistinguishable from the faded yellow fabric. She slapped her open palm on the hatch twice, hearing the sound of hollow metal ring out, and waited.

Milly had watched all this curiously and seemed moments from asking Meryl what was going on when the door's locking mechanism gave a loud _clank_ and the hatch iched unexpectedly open, swinging heavily and slowly out into the hall. A tall blonde girl stood in the doorway, squinting in even just the dim light from the flickering bulb. Her feet were bare and she wore a long nightgown, and she glanced from Milly to Meryl before asking, "Just two?" Her voice was low and husky from recent slumber.

"Just two," said Meryl, nodding.

"Mark it," said the girl, tossing Meryl a small chunk of chalk. Meryl stepped back to close the door halfway, writing the number 9 where the 7 had been earlier.

When the door was pushed fully open to let them in, the room was just as Meryl remembered: low-ceilinged, crowded around a narrow strip of floor and two step ladders that took up nearly half the floor to begin with. There were two tiny compartments for luggage on either side of the door, which were already crammed full with the original occupants' belongings; Meryl had guessed rightly on this count.

The only difference was the porthole window at the end of the aisle; her room had faced in toward the center of the steamer. Here the window was open to keep the room cool (she assumed) and it was covered with a thin blanket of some kind, which was making a valiant effort to block out the sand. But it did nothing for the noise.

The girl who had opened the door for them now scowled at them both, glancing at their uniforms.

"This is housekeeping, not whoring," she grumbled, as Meryl stepped past her. Meryl turned wide and furious eyes on her, but the noise of the wind and the engines seemed to have kept the words only for the two of them. Milly was still bent nearly in half just to fit through the low doorway and she appeared not to have heard the comment. "We were all just getting to sleep," complained the girl.

"Then stop making it worse and shut the hell up," Meryl hissed, glaring fiercely. The girl scowled again, pulled the heavy door shut behind them, and crawled into the nearest bunk, turning her back to them. For the first time, Meryl wondered if she was doing the right thing, trying to keep the truth about "the night-shift" from Milly. Maybe it wasn't her place to keep it. She wasn't sure if she was protecting Milly's innocence, or just begetting her ignorance.

But it was too late and she was too exhausted and Meryl decided not to think on it for now. She just led Milly farther into the room. Past the over-stuffed luggage compartments, there were two sets of three-tiered bunks on either side of the aisle, maybe two yarz long each. Meryl felt bad for Milly already; that girl was going to be folded in half just to fit. To make things even worse, each bunk had only about a foot's distance between it and the one above.

"Well gosh," said Milly, bending low to speak in Meryl's ear. Actually, she was bent over to keep her head from hitting the low ceiling, Meryl realized. "This is certainly…cozy." As she pointed out two open bunks, one above the other, she asked Meryl, "Did you sleep in this kind of cabin when you worked on a steamer?"

"Yeah," Meryl lied, after a moment's hesitation. In truth, for most of her time on the _S.S. Gunsmoke_, Meryl shared a small room several decks below with just one other person. It was barely large enough for a proper bed, but at least it had been private.

Meryl threw her bundled cloak into the top bunk, then kicked off her boots and tossed them in, too. She hurriedly stripped off leggings, skirt, and blouse, and pulled her nightshirt over her head. Next to the window she was _freezing, _despite being so near to the coal-fired engines now_._ For an instant she wished she had thought to bring Vash's clothes to sleep in—and then remembered they were still just another secret she was keeping from Milly.

"_Ow,_" hissed Milly now, slamming her knee into the narrow step-ladder Meryl was climbing to get to up to her third-tier cot. There was just enough space between the levels to slide in onto the worn mattress, and with her nose just iches from the ceiling, Meryl was glad she wasn't claustrophobic.

It took some strange maneuvering (and a great deal of cursing under her breath) to arrange everything to fit in Meryl's tiny bunk. She kicked the boots to the foot of her cot and stowed her cloak alongside them. Even tucked in the very far corner it didn't leave much room for her feet, and Meryl realized again just how poorly these bunks would fit Milly.

Now she could hear the younger woman trying to get settled in the bunk below and after a few audible _bonk_s of knees or elbows, Milly sighed heavily.

"Does it ever get less _awkward?_" she asked Meryl, her voice muffled from below.

"Not really," said Meryl.

"Shut it, the both of you!" someone from across the aisle ordered, in a fierce whisper, just loudly enough to be heard.

Meryl opened her mouth to apologize and then realized it would only make things worse. She sighed. Stuffing the discarded uniform her into a makeshift pillow (the one provided was hardly better than a folded tea towel), she did her best to get settled.

Shifting around on her tiny cot, uncomfortable no matter where she lay, Meryl tried to think of the last time she had a full night's rest. She fell asleep before she could remember.

And she dreamed.

She was watching Vash sleep, from above, as though she was floating somewhere in mid-air. Vash lay on his stomach and the sheets came only as high as his waist, leaving bare the smooth expanse of skin across his back.

Then Meryl realized he wasn't sleeping. Two small hands appeared from beneath Vash's torso and slender arms wrapped around his back, gripping his shoulders tightly. Now Meryl could see, in the moonslight through the open window, the sheen of sweat on Vash's skin. Now she could hear the rapid breaths and soft sighs of the woman lying under him, could see the wiry musculature of Vash's back flexing beneath his skin as he moved over her.

Vash bent to kiss the woman's neck and Meryl saw Elizabeth's face revealed over his shoulder. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was open, breathing shallowly, with a look of utter bliss across her features. Elizabeth moaned, and her auburn hair turned to a tide of blonde ringlets that cascaded across the pillow as her face changed to that of someone else, a younger woman Meryl didn't recognize, who wore the same rapturous expression at Vash's touch.

Then Vash rolled onto his back, carrying the woman along until she sat astride him, his strong hands gripping her hips to guide her movements. He looked up into her face through eyes half-lidded in a haze of pleasure—and suddenly it was _her;_ Meryl recognized her own body, her hair, a familiar scar on her shoulder.

As though she wasn't already sure of it, there was no doubt left to be had when the woman threw her head back and cried out Vash's name; Meryl watched her own face, transformed, in an unmistakable expression of sheer ecstasy.

And in that instant Vash looked up, not at the other-Meryl, but at _her_, clear green eyes now staring into her, through her, with a gaze so intense it woke her from the dream.

Meryl sat up with a gasp, immediately slamming her head into the ludicrously low ceiling of the bunk. Pain flared in her skull, but she was more preoccupied with the way her heart was pounding like mad against her ribs, and how her insides were burning up under skin covered in a cold sweat.

She curled up on her side and gritted her teeth against the growing ache in her head, trying to take long, steady breaths to slow her heart rate. It didn't help that she was shaking all over, staring wide-eyed and very much awake into the darkness of her bunk.

_What the fuck was that?_

Meryl dug the heels of her palms into her eyes and tried hard to stop seeing her _face_ like that. She tried to stop seeing _Vash_ like that. Until the night before, Meryl had never even seen Vash out of his jacket, but now she knew his real build and her imagination had done… _wonderful_ things with that new information.

The steamer abruptly gave a little shake, a bump that sent Meryl flying up the few iches into her ceiling again before dropping her, hard, on the mattress. Thoughts of Vash were gone as she blinked dazedly, rubbing her head again, and wondered what the hell could have happened.

Then there was a much larger lurch, something that rocked the whole steamer, and Meryl found herself thrown roughly from ceiling to floor, wall to ceiling, floor to wall, as if some giant had put her inside a wine cask and shook it as hard as he could. Finally she was thrown fully out of the bunk and onto the floor of the crew quarters. She was going to have bruises upon bruises now, but she was glad just to be out of the wine cask and she sat gratefully on the floor for a moment, trying to catch her breath.

The other young women were appearing at the mouths of their bunks, yawning, all of them complaining about the turbulence. A few others had been knocked out of bed like Meryl and they stood up again, rubbing their eyes and looking sleepily surprised.

"Ma'am, are you alright?" asked Milly, sliding out of her bunk and looking curiously down at Meryl.

"Yeah," said Meryl, standing. She lost her balance at first, still dizzy, but Milly steadied her. "Something's wrong," Meryl said, frowning. That kind of turbulence wasn't normal for a steamer this size, whatever the terrain.

"Well, the captain said there would be a few bumps," Milly said, looking tentatively hopeful.

"These aren't normal bumps," said Meryl, gravely. Milly sobered.

The steamer gave another huge heave beneath their feet, this time throwing _everyone_ to the floor.

"Oh my god!" screamed one woman, as she scrambled to her feet. "A boiler's blown!"

"No it hasn't," snapped Meryl, but the rest of the women had started panicking. "No it hasn't!" she shouted, angry and trying to be heard over the commotion. "A blow-out would have us listing to one side!"

"What are you talking about?" asked one woman, seizing Meryl by the shoulder. Meryl recognized her voice as the woman who had snapped at her and Milly earlier; she was the eldest in the room, easily a decade Meryl's senior, and seemed to be the only one not screaming her head off.

"The boilers run parallel to the aft bulkhead; if one blew we'd be off-balance!" Meryl told her, still almost shouting to be heard. "This is something else!" She caught Milly's eye now and knew instantly that the younger woman no longer believed her to have worked in the kitchens.

_Well…that'll have to wait._

"Everybody be quiet!" demanded Meryl, gesturing wildly with her arms as though she could shove all the women back into their bunks through sheer force of will. The girl who had let her and Milly into the room was in hysterics and Meryl dragged her down by the front of her nightgown before seizing her in a headlock. She clapped a hand over the girl's mouth, shouting, "Quiet, quiet, quiet!"

Amazingly, the room went silent. Meryl held her breath, waiting and hoping that whatever it was, it was over. After another fifteen seconds the steamer shuddered once more, but this time the violent shaking was accompanied by the sound of an explosion, somewhere much nearer to them than the boilers.

Meryl realized what was happening just moments before the gunfire started, and then it was too late. Everyone else in the room was screaming and panicking again, negating any chance of their being able to hide and stay unnoticed.

She glanced at Milly, who just gave her a miserable grimace in return.

They were being hijacked.

"Aw, shit," muttered Meryl.


	37. Episode 7, BDN, Part 4

"Okay, okay, _okay!_" shouted Meryl. The girl she still held in a headlock was trying to scream through Meryl's fingers and she shook her, tightening the lock. Milly's hand fell on Meryl's shoulder and squeezed. Meryl let up on her hold again (a little), picturing the stern look Milly was almost certainly giving her now. "Just shut the hell up!" she shouted again.

The eldest woman helped Meryl shush the girls, clearly made of sterner stuff than the rest of them. Meryl wondered how long this woman had worked steamers. It was a hard life, and not a lot of people stayed long; if she had started at the same age as most, she was in her second decade aboard one ship or another and Meryl's respect for her grew. And she wanted to make note of it.

"Thank you, Ma'am," said Meryl, nodding to the woman. She looked shocked to hear the honorific, and nodded at Meryl in return.

"Okay," Meryl went on, more softly, trying to radiate an aura of calm to mollify the girls' amassed panic. The girl in the headlock was fighting to get out and Meryl tightened it again until the girl stopped struggling. "Are you done?" she asked, quietly. The girl nodded as best she could in the lock, tapping out against Meryl's elbow.

"Now," said Meryl, addressing the whole room. The girl previously in the headlock was rubbing her throat, but stayed silent. "All that fuss is still several decks up from here, so you're not in any immediate danger. I need you to just stay _quiet._ You can just hunker down in here and try to stay out of the way until this all blows over, whatever it is." She didn't want to use the word _hijacking_. In steamer terminology it was basically _piracy_, and there were _always_ casualties. "There's nothing of any real importance on this deck, in the way of resources _or_ vital mechanical processes, so it's likely no one will even come down this far."

"But what if they do?" asked one girl, anxiously.

"Just _stay quiet,_" said Meryl again. "Don't give anyone any reason to look in here. Ma'am, can you—"

"Sarah," offered the eldest woman. "Sarah's fine."

"Sarah," said Meryl, nodding. She tried again, "Can you—"

"Why do you keep saying, '_you'? _" asked Sarah. "Like, '_You_ can stay down here 'til it's over'? "

"_I_ have to go up the main decks," explained Meryl. "I need to see what's going on."

"_What?"_ said the girl so recently in a headlock.

"Why?" Sarah asked, glancing uncertainly from Milly to Meryl. "Who _are _you people?"

"It's a long story," sighed Meryl, trying to focus. If she was going to be sneaking around, she couldn't wear her boots; they would make far too much noise. So she'd be running around in just underwear and her nightshirt; leggings were out, they gave her no purchase on smooth metal flooring. For an instant Meryl considered wearing Vash's clothes—but they were far too big; they'd just get in her way.

Fine. As-is, then.

_Barefoot and pantsless. Wonderful._

"What about me, Ma'am?" asked Milly, worriedly. "Shouldn't I come with you?"

"No, you don't know your way around the steamer," Meryl said, shaking her head. "Stay with the girls—"

"I know my way around, I can help you," interrupted one girl. Meryl guessed her to be the youngest, maybe 13 or 14, only a few iches and five pounds short of Meryl's build, and she seemed to have gotten over her initial panic pretty quickly. She still looked a little anxious, but seemed more level-headed than the rest, and eager to help.

"No," said Meryl, shaking her head at the girl (though she admired her spunk). "It's too dangerous. What's your name?"

"Evangeline—Evie," the girl told her.

"Okay, Evie," said Meryl. "I need you to stay here and help Milly keep the others safe. She knows what to do if something goes wrong, but the girls know you better, they'll listen to you." Evie nodded. "You all just stay here, stay quiet, and lock the door after me. Don't let anyone in."

"What about you?" asked Evie.

"I'll shave-and-a-haircut," Meryl told her, opening the hatch an ich to peer out down the corridor in the direction it offered view.

"_What?_" asked Sarah, bewildered.

"Two bits," chorused Milly and Evie. Meryl turned again to grin at them both.

"Good girls," she told them. "Back in a bit."

Meryl pushed the door open as slowly as possible, waiting to hear any exclamation of, "_Somebody's over there!_" or the like. When none came, she stepped out into the corridor. Two plates of the metal flooring met just in front of the room and Meryl's heel fell on a loose rivet meant to seal them together. She jumped off it immediately, swearing (almost) silently, and for a long moment reconsidered her boots, stuffed in the corner of her bunk. But they would _clomp _loudly on the metal floor, and she decided against them, again.

_Damn._

Standing with one foot inside the bottom of the curved hatch door, balancing herself with the other foot on the open frame, Meryl used the extra few iches of height they offered and reached up to gingerly unscrew the light bulb above the door. She did so as quickly as possible, but it still burned her fingers and she was glad when it finally flickered out for good. The bulb sat loose in the socket now and Meryl hoped it wouldn't fall out and call any attention to the door below it.

In the near dark, Meryl could barely see Milly waiting just inside the door as she stepped down to the floor again (avoiding that same upraised rivet). But she nodded anyway and heard the hatch swing shut as her eyes adjusted to the dark. The locking mechanism clanked into place and Meryl let out a quiet breath that was both a sigh of relief and of resignation.

After a moment, Meryl's could see well enough to find the number 9 she had written earlier on the hatch exterior. Now she scrubbed away all traces of the chalk; one less thing for any hijackers to notice. This hatch could lead to anything. Locked and unmarked and hidden in shadow, it would most likely be unnoticed or passed over.

Or so she hoped.

And she ran.

Her stride was irregular—long-long-short, long-short-long, short-short-stumble—trying to avoid any more seams in the flooring that might cut open her bare feet.

_Step on a crack, break your mother's back…_

Meryl had always won that game as a child. She thought it had been skill, but probably it was just small feet.

Either way, she was making good time now.

Meryl was following a series of service corridors leading her more toward the interior of the steamer. Mostly her guidance was just from memory, and very few of these narrow hallways were lit at this time of night so Meryl had to be careful not to run face-first into a dead end she might not remember.

A few more explosions rocked the steamer and threw Meryl against the wall, but she picked herself up again each time and kept running. The gunfire had mostly ceased—steamer crew weren't armed, after all, there wasn't going to be any resistance—but there was still plenty of shouting and screams to lead her up toward the commotion.

Several minutes later—this ship seemed even bigger than she remembered!—Meryl reached the next main corridor, stretching from bow to stern, wide enough to accommodate large groups of people at a time. She knelt and peeked around the corner into the well-lit hallway, and was relieved to find it empty.

Ten yarz away she could see what she'd been searching for: a tiny, round alcove off the corridor held a narrow ladder that led both to decks above and below the one where Meryl stood now. She hurried across the hall, practically diving into the alcove and standing half-hunched on the ladder, listening hard for any noise from the decks directly above or below. Hearing nothing, Meryl glanced down to see the ladder descended another three decks before ending on a metal floor platform. Looking up, she guessed there to be another five decks accessible above her—maybe six—before the ladder ended at the ceiling of one of the uppermost decks.

She started climbing up, bare feet cold on the metal ladder rungs, trying to move silently, stopping at every floor with just her eyes above the metal deck plating, looking and listening for any hijackers. Meryl climbed four levels without finding anyone at all, but at C-deck she could hear people coming, dozens of shoes and boots clanking along the metal floors.

At least two men were shouting at the others in the crowd, and Meryl assumed they were some of the hijackers, rounding up passengers. She wondered where they would be taking everyone…

Meryl raised her head just enough to look down the corridor and saw a mix of passengers and crew being ushered toward where she hid in the ladder alcove. Climbing down another few rungs to stay well out of view, Meryl was taken completely by surprise when one of the shouting men called out, "Hey! Stop her!"

A blur of movement above and Meryl realized someone had thrown themselves into the ladder alcove, dropping down toward her. She recognized the figure as a girl in a stewardess uniform, sliding down the ladder faster than Meryl could move out of her way, so Meryl just pulled her feet free and dropped, trying to hold the side-rails loosely to keep herself from free-fall without burning her hands.

Two decks lower, the girl still hadn't seemed to notice there was someone stuck below her, and Meryl was close to shouting her presence before she looked past the girl's shoulder and saw a familiar a gas mask faceplate on the man looking down from the mouth of the alcove.

Then Meryl saw the barrel of the machine gun pointed down at them.

She shouted in alarm as the man opened fire, and the girl above her screamed. Meryl abruptly planted both feet on the ladder again and caught the girl around the waist from behind as she fell, throwing them both sideways out of the ladder alcove, out of the line of fire, and into the main corridor of the nearest deck.

Meryl landed hard on her back on the cold metal floor plating and, still holding the girl around the middle, was nearly crushed as the girl fell heavily backward onto her chest. Meryl immediately clapped one hand over the girl's mouth, cutting off the continuous scream. The girl was so tall that the back of her head almost hit the floor over Meryl's shoulder and she was struggling frantically to escape Meryl's grip. Meryl just held her more tightly.

"_Play dead!_" Meryl hissed in her ear, speaking through a mouthful of the girl's long blonde hair.

The girl froze and the rapid gunfire stopped. For a moment she and Meryl just lay there, silent save for both their labored breathing. Then the girl started shaking in her arms, whimpering from behind her hand.

"I think I got her!" shouted one of the men, his voice echoing down the ladder alcove.

"Then leave her," said the other. "Neon wants the _passengers_, he won't care if we lose one idiot stewardess on the way." The man seemed to turn his attention back to the rest of the group, saying, "And unless any of the rest of you want to end up like _her_, you'll keep moving. Got it?"

Soon the sounds of the hijackers and their captives disappeared into the distance and Meryl breathed a sigh of relief. The girl was still shaking and Meryl released her, helping her sit up properly, though the girl gave a small strangled cry and both her hands flew to cover a bloody hole halfway up her thigh.

"You're hit," said Meryl. It would have been a miracle if she _wasn't._

The girl nodded, crying. "M-my leg," she whispered, her voice strained to the point of breaking. "It _hurts._"

"Keep pressure on it, just like that," Meryl told her, adding her own hands over the girl's. The bleeding wasn't as bad as it could be, so she figured the bullet was still in there, blocking at least some of it. "What's your name?" asked Meryl, trying to keep the girl's mind off the wound as much as possible.

"Candice," said the girl, through gritted teeth.

It was clear to Meryl, at least, that Candice was doing her best not to burst into noisy sobs. Meryl wouldn't blame her for it; gunshot wounds _do_ hurt, they burn like fire buried deep inside flesh. And Candice was taking it a lot better than Meryl had, her first time…

"Well, hi, Candice," Meryl said, nodding, trying to sound comforting. "I'm Meryl, and I'm going to get your leg taken care of."

"O-okay," said Candice, seemingly hesitant. Meryl couldn't blame her for that either… She wasn't the best at patching up wounds, and she would much rather just send Candice down to the bunk room one deck down and leave her in Milly's more capable hands.

But there was no way the girl would be able to get there with that kind of leg injury, so they would just have to manage.

Meryl knew there weren't any sick bays amidships, and she certainly couldn't carry Candice anywhere. She'd have to drag the poor girl somewhere out of sight, somewhere they could hide, somewhere she could find some kind of bandaging materials…

"Do you know where the nearest linen closet is?" Meryl asked, suddenly.

"Um—a few minutes starboard, maybe?" said Candice, puzzled.

"Okay," said Meryl, thinking too many steps ahead. "I need to take off your shirt." She reached forward and Candice almost jumped away.

"_What?_" squeaked the girl.

"Oh—ah…or your skirt," Meryl said, realizing the alternative. "If you're not wearing anything under the blouse…"

"Why?" Candice demanded, still regarding Meryl warily.

"I need to put something on that wound just to keep from leaving a bloody smear-trail when I move you," said Meryl. "And we need to move you quick, to take care of that leg."

"Oh," said Candice. Then her cheeks went faintly pink. "Better be the skirt then," she said. "Go on."

Meryl pulled down the zipper at Candice's left hip and ripped out the rest of the seam, unwrapping the ruined garment from her waist. At the sight of purple-polka-dot panties, Meryl had to hide a small grin—she had that same pair!—in hopes of not embarrassing Candice any further. Meryl gently pulled the girl's leg up from the knee, just enough to slip the skirt fabric under her thigh, and then wrapped the ends up over the wound. As the skirt touched Candice's leg it bled through, turning the dark maroon fabric almost black, and though the blood stain spread quickly at first, it slowed enough that Meryl knew it wouldn't make it _under_ Candice's leg before they could get somewhere safe.

Suddenly Meryl had to swallow an almost manic giggle as she realized what she was doing.

_It's a **bandage** with **pleats**._

She put the ends of the skirt together at the side and twisted them until the fabric tightened around Candice's leg like a makeshift tourniquet. The girl cried out, but cut it immediately short, gritting her teeth.

"Okay, you've got two jobs now," Meryl told Candice. "Still keep pressure there, right over the wound, with one hand, but hold tight to the ends of the skirt, here, with the other. Cinch it as tight around your leg as you can. Got it?"

Candice nodded mutely, looking pale, and took the ends of the skirt from Meryl's hands.

"Good girl," Meryl told her, gently. Then she grimaced. "This isn't going to be a pleasant trip. You keep pressure on that wound no matter what, but I have to pull you there and we have to make it quick. We don't want any more of those guys coming down here after us."

"After _me_," said Candice, managing to frown miserably despite the pain. "It's _my _fault if you get caught with me."

"Don't worry," Meryl assured her. "We can hear those idiots' boots clomping from iles away, and I know plenty of places to hide. They have shitty peripheral vision, we'll be fine." She bent low and grabbed Candice under the armpits from behind, testing the grip with a gentle tug. The girl gave a strangled noise but didn't cry out, and her hand stayed pressed tight over the bullet hole in her thigh. The bleeding had slowed considerably, but Candice' knuckles were white from how tightly she held the skirt together.

"Okay, here we go," said Meryl, pulling Candice slowly backwards across the metal deck plating. She decided to pick up the conversation again, in another attempt to keep the girl's mind occupied elsewhere. "So how old are you, Candice?" Meryl kept glancing over her shoulder to make sure she knew where she was going, pausing at every junction to look out for any hijackers that might have come down this far.

"Seventeen," grunted the girl. The trip was already taking its toll on her.

"And you were working tonight?"

Candice nodded.

"Was he cute?" Meryl asked, conspiratorially. Candice actually gave a laugh at this, albeit a weak one.

"He was…okay-looking," she allowed.

"Any good in the sack?"

"We didn't get that far, before—ah!"

"Sorry!" said Meryl. She had tripped on another loose rivet and nearly pulled Candice's hands free.

"We didn't get that far," Candice tried again. "Before those men came, kicking down doors and dragging people out of bed…"

"Hmm," grimaced Meryl, peering around another corner.

"You know who they are, don't you," said Candice, trying to look over her shoulder to talk to Meryl properly.

"Uh—yeah," said Meryl, surprised. "How…?"

" 'They have shitty peripheral vision'? " said Candice, giving another weak laugh. "I'm not _that_ blonde. Who _are_ you?"

"Long story," Meryl sighed, for the second time that night. "A friend. I just want to get you safe."

"Okay," said Candice, shaking her head. "Who are _they_, then?"

"BadLads gang," grunted Meryl, pulling Candice carefully over a bump in the floor plating where two corridors intersected. She glanced back over her shoulder and saw a likely candidate for a linen closet door. "Here?" she asked, pulling Candice around to look.

"That's janitorial," said the girl. "Look for the same door, a little ways farther towards the bow, on the opposite side of the hall."

"Here?" asked Meryl again, following Candice's directions. She reached for the doorknob and, relieved to find it unlocked, pushed it open and dragged Candice inside so she could rest her back against the wall. Candice kicked the door shut with her good leg and groaned.

"Now what?" she asked.

"_Now_ we ruin some perfectly good linens," said Meryl, rummaging around through stacks of folded sheets, blankets and towels. Her hands were leaving bloody streaks on everything she touched, but she couldn't be bothered to worry about it now. She grabbed a pillowcase and tossed it down to Candice. "Fold that in quarters," Meryl ordered, and Candice obliged, awkwardly, one-handedly.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Candice begin pulling the skirt-bandage off her leg and Meryl spun around to stop her.

"Don't!" Meryl hissed, clapping her hand down over skirt and wound before Candice could finish peeling the fabric away. The girl cried out at the sudden extra pressure on her leg and Meryl winced, apologetic. "Just put the pillowcase _over_ the skirt. We don't want to risk pulling off any clotting that's already helping stop the bleeding."

Candice nodded, more pale than ever, and pressed the pillowcase down over the bloody skirt fabric.

Meryl found the oldest, most worn-looking sheets in the room and went searching for holes; cigarette burns, mice holes, anything. Eventually she found a hole cut cleanly in the sheet as if by a knife—which was troubling to think of—but suited her purpose just fine. She ripped from the hole outwards, tearing off a long strip of fabric about two hands wide and nearly three yarz long.

"Meryl, it's already bleeding through," said Candice, worriedly.

"Another one," Meryl said, handing down a second pillowcase. "Just put it on top, layered over." She folded the ripped stretch of linen lengthwise (not an easy feat for a piece so long), and knelt at Candice's side, pulling her leg up by the knee again and starting to gently wrap the sheet around the girl's thigh.

"Do you do this a lot?" asked Candice, gritting her teeth against the pain. "Deal with gunshots, and stuff?"

"It's more common than I'd like," said Meryl, grimacing. She was playing close attention to her work now, but also knew she needed any information Candice might have. "Do you have any idea what's going on?" she asked her. "You were on C-deck when, uh…when…"

Meryl faltered, and Candice looked at her curiously.

"When we met," Meryl finished, coolly. Candice actually laughed.

"I suppose you could say that," she allowed.

"Were you initially there? Or—"

"No, I was down on E," Candice told her. "Those guys marched us up two stairwells before we passed a ladder, and then I was like, 'Why the fuck not?' "

"Wow," said Meryl, torn between impressed and horrified, trying not to show either in her expression. "Gutsy," she managed.

"Yeah, gutsy," Candice said, nodding. She hissed as Meryl pulled the last few wraps of the makeshift bandage tight around her leg. "But not too bright."

Meryl tied the ends together and surveyed her finished work. It was bulky and messy, but it would do.

"Not my prettiest field-dressing," Meryl admitted. "But you sure as hell won't bleed out."

"Alright, so _now_ what?" asked Candice. She had her eyes closed, head leaning back against the wall, breathing steadily through her nose. Meryl stood, letting out a sigh.

"I need to go up and take a look around," she said, glancing skyward as though she could see through the ceiling to the few decks above.

"What?" said Candice, alarmed. She seized Meryl's hand. "You can't!"

"You'll be fine in here," Meryl promised, gently pulling her hand free of the girl's grasp. "Just keep the door locked, no one will—"

"Not _me_, stupid," interrupted Candice, scowling up at Meryl exasperatedly. "You go up there, you'll get caught! Those guys are _everywhere_, the passenger decks are crawling with them!"

"But I need to know what's going on," said Meryl, equally exasperated. "You say they're rounding up passengers? I need to know _where—_"

"The casinos on B-deck," Candice interrupted again. "That's where they were taking us." She folded her arms over her chest and looked expectantly at Meryl. "What else?"

Meryl opened her mouth, but honestly couldn't think of anything else. That _was_ what she needed to know. "But why _B_-deck?" she asked aloud, puzzled. "It'd be easier to keep everyone up on the main deck, just block off all the accessways and leave them there while they raided the rooms. What's on B-deck that's important enough to risk—oh…" This time Meryl cut herself short. "Shit," she said. "The vault."

"That's what I'm guessing," said Candice, nodding.

A steamer's vault was always nearest the most money, which put it smack-dab in the center of five casinos; two on B-deck and three on the deck above, which literally funneled money into the massive strongroom below. An outer partition separated the main body of the vault from two smaller rooms full of safety deposit boxes for passenger use. The only door to the vault led only to these safety deposit boxes, and the casino money was stored behind secondary and tertiary locking mechanisms.

"But that's impossible," Meryl said, shaking her head. "There's no way into the main vault, they can only open it when the steamer docks directly to a bank with the right security systems."

Candice shrugged resignedly, saying, "I'm just telling you what I know." She grabbed Meryl's hand again. "_Please_ let it be enough to keep you from going up there." Meryl hesitated.

"If I could get just a guess at how many of them…"

"They cleared E-deck within a matter of minutes," said Candice, shaking her head. "The three guys in my hall had ten rooms open and emptied sooner than I could even get dressed properly, eight passenger wings, double for the port side, six decks, at least…"

"A lot," concluded Meryl. "Great."

"Please don't go," Candice said again, looking pleadingly up at her. Meryl sighed.

"I won't go up," she sighed, finally. _Yet._ "But I have to go down, find my partner, try to figure out what to do next." Candice looked like she wanted to argue, but Meryl shushed her. "Lock the door, keep quiet, and you'll be fine. I'll send a medic for you as soon as I can, I promise."

Candice nodded miserably, and Meryl opened the door as silently as possible, checking for any movement outside. When she was certain the passageway outside was clear, she slipped out into the corridor and pulled the door shut behind her. Meryl tried the knob and was glad to find it had locked properly.

Then she made her way back down to the housekeeping bunk room as quickly as she could, taking the same route as she had come up. She wasn't as careful as she should be, she knew, taking corners too quickly, letting the occasional footfall _thud_ against the deck when she avoided a seam in the floor plating. But when she came to the corridor for the bunk room, Meryl knew it wasn't just her own safety on the line anymore and took each corner and each step with expert care.

The unlit bulb still hung above the bunk room's hatch door, if loosely, and Meryl hurried across the narrow distance to crouch low in the darkness, just at the edge of the hatch so it need open only a few iches for her to slip in. She touched her knuckles to the metal as softly as she could and still be heard.

_Tap, tap, tap-tap, tap._

It seemed to Meryl that the noise rang out in the silent corridor like a church bell on Sunday, but probably that was just anxiety, fueling paranoia.

But there was no reply from within the bunk room.

_Shit_.

She couldn't believe the BadLads would come this far down, when presumably they were just looking to roust rich passengers. So Meryl gritted her teeth angrily and hoped Milly had gotten everyone to safety first, or was at least looking after them in all the chaos going on upstairs. She continued down the corridor, biting one thumbnail as she desperately tried to think of a new plan—of any plan. Then the locking mechanism of the door _clunked_ open behind her, and Meryl froze in the shadows.

"_Ma'am?_" came a whisper.

"Milly?" Meryl replied, just as quietly_._

She hurried back to the door, half scowling at Milly as she climbed inside and pulled the hatch shut behind her.

"Why didn't you two-bits?" Meryl demanded.

"I thought _you_ were supposed to two-bits," said Milly, looking confused.

"No! It's a response to the shave-and-a-haircut, so I know you're still—oh forget it," said Meryl. "We'll argue about this later." She sighed and rubbed at a growing ache in her forehead. Milly's eyes went wide and she grabbed Meryl's hand at the wrist.

"Ma'am!" Milly gasped. "What happened?"

Meryl glanced down at her own hand, almost surprised to see the dried smears of Candice's blood across her skin.

"Nothing," she said, shaking her head. "I mean, it's not mine. A girl, a stewardess, got shot—her leg, I patched her up, she's fine. I'm fine." Milly still looked worried.

"What's happening up there?" asked Evie, almost excitedly. She didn't even seem phased by Meryl's report of another girl's gunshot wound.

"It's the BadLads," Meryl told Milly. The younger woman took in a sharp breath through her teeth.

"BDN?" Milly asked, looking hopeful that maybe Meryl would say otherwise.

"I didn't see him, but he's giving the orders," Meryl said, nodding.

"Who's BDN?" Sarah asked.

"Brilliant Dynamites Neon," said Milly.

"Bad news?" asked Sarah.

"_Really_ bad news," Meryl affirmed. "We've dealt with them in the past." In truth, she and Milly had just been back-up on that case, and the two of them were actually never needed to step in. But she had seen what the gang and their leader were capable of.

"What do we do, Ma'am?" asked Milly. Meryl puffed out her cheeks with a sigh and tried hard to think. They were two, against a veritable army. What could they do? What could _she_ do, except—

_Recruit._

"I'm going for Vash," said Meryl, quickly. She was glad Milly didn't need any explanation.

"And me?" asked Milly.

"Do you think you could find your way back to the storage unit where we left—"

"My stun-gun?" said Milly coolly, raising an eyebrow. "You think I'd ever _not_ know where it was?"

Meryl grinned. "Just be careful. I'll get Vash and meet you in storage."

"What about us?" asked Evie, suddenly. She had been listening to their conversation, turning from one to the other as they spoke hurriedly, and now she looked less excited and more anxious. "What are we supposed to do without you?"

"Just the same as you have been," Meryl told her, one hand on the girl's shoulder. "Lock up and keep quiet. I'm leaving you in charge now, got it?" Glancing up over Evie's head, Meryl caught Sarah's gaze. The older woman nodded and Meryl knew things were well in hand. "Okay, we're going—"

The steamer bucked under their feet again, throwing all the bunk room's occupants against each other and then to the floor as the steamer abruptly changed heading and began accelerating wildly.

"What's going on?" squeaked one of the girls, clinging to the rungs of the nearest step-ladder.

"I don't know," said Meryl, darkly. She clambered up to her feet and caught her balance. "But it can't be good."


	38. Episode 7, BDN, Part 5

There was only one passage Meryl could think of which went all the way up to the top decks, and which passengers never, ever saw. So when she was sure Evie had locked the heavy bunk room door behind her, Meryl sent Milly down to the loading docks before she herself headed toward the kitchens.

Meryl had never actually _seen_ the kitchen dumbwaiters, but she knew that they were how food was transported up to the top decks of the steamer, and she figured she could ride one up to B-deck with relative ease (as opposed to another harrowing journey on foot).

The halls between the bunk room and the kitchens were empty and silent, and Meryl was glad to arrive there without running afoul of any stray BadLads.

The oven fires burned all night and the light from the flames bounced off metal cooking surfaces and cupboards of the kitchen until the whole place was lit with a bright, flickering glow. It didn't take long for Meryl to find the dumbwaiters set in the rear of the room, and they were considerably larger than she had imagined. She had expected to be sardine-cramped inside the dumbwaiter car, curled up almost fetal, but she could practically _stand_ in there.

Unfortunately, Meryl quickly discovered that the dumbwaiters were hand-crank operated, which meant she had no way to control it once she was _inside_ the car. She kicked herself for not expecting this, and wished she had brought Milly here first to help her, _before_ sending the younger woman to find their luggage.

"Shit," hissed Meryl, scowling fiercely. She dreaded having to make her way up to B-deck again by some complicated series of ladders and hallways—always with the risk she would take a wrong turning and end up lost, or land right in the laps of a random group of hijackers.

_Unless…_

Technically, the dumbwaiter passageway still led all the way to the top decks; it was just that Meryl couldn't _ride_ it up. But she could still _climb_ it.

It wasn't a terribly appealing plan, but it was a plan nonetheless.

Meryl used the hand-crank to lower the dumbwaiter car past the opening in the kitchen wall, until she could see only the heavy cable disappearing up into the darkness of the dumbwaiter shaft. She briefly considered just cutting the counterweight free and letting it carry her up the whole way instead of having to climb, but she thought she better not risk it in case she needed to get back _down_ this way.

Tentatively, Meryl crawled through the opening and eased her way onto the dumbwaiter car. When she was sure it would hold her weight, she stood and looked up into the near pitch-black shaft above her. There seemed to be no end to it. She sighed resignedly, and started climbing the cable up into the dark.

The glow from the kitchen fires faded away below her as she got higher, but light shone through the cracks of the dumbwaiter door at each deck, and Meryl counted each faint square outline as she climbed.

Every few minutes or so the steamer would lurch one way or another, making the cable whip dizzyingly back and forth, nearly knocking Meryl loose. She held desperately tightly to the cable each time, and she was relieved to finally reach what she was absolutely-almost-certainly-sure was B-deck. When she reached out with one hand to push the door open, it didn't budge.

_Fuck._

Did the doors lock? Meryl hadn't noticed when she had opened the one in the kitchen. She feverishly hoped it was just stuck, and pounded on the door with her fist. Her feet were clamped tightly on the cable and her legs were shaking with exhaustion by now.

Finally she climbed up almost another two yarz and took a death-grip on the cable with both hands before letting go with her legs to kick at the door. Once, twice, three times, and finally with the fourth kick the door burst open. Meryl wrapped her feet quickly around the cable again, heart racing in her chest, and climbed back down.

Meryl transferred both hands to the open door frame and let her feet dangle free, hanging there with her front pressed against the cold metal side of the shaft. She took a deep breath through her nose and pulled herself up and through the open door, tumbling to the floor on the other side.

Taking a moment to catch her breath properly—it had been a fairly stressful ascent—Meryl looked around the room she had, for lack of a better word, _landed_ in.

It was just a large square space with a broad table at the center, where Meryl assumed any incoming food could be arranged and plated to carry out to the steamer's passengers. There were two doors along each of the three walls not occupied by the dumbwaiter opening, and each door had a small placard attached at roughly Meryl-eye-level (as opposed to Milly- or Vash-eye-level). Meryl approached one door carefully, quietly, near enough to read the numbers etched into each placard.

_ROOMS B- 261-280_

"No _way,_" Meryl whispered, astonished. It couldn't possibly be this easy—nothing was _ever_ this easy. The next door was marked, _ROOMS B- 241-260_, and the next, _ROOMS B- 221-240_.

The last on her left read, _ROOMS B- 201-220._

Vash was in 219.

"No _way!_" she said again.

Meryl pressed her ear to the door, not sure what she was hoping to hear, but the only noise seemed to be quite a ways in the distance. She wondered if the BadLads had already swept through this area; if they had started at the top deck, this hall would certainly be cleared out by now.

Dropping onto hands and knees, Meryl flattened herself to the carpet and tried to see through the crack between the door and the floor. All she could see was a sliver of empty hallway and she decided to try opening the door, just half an ich, to see where it would lead.

The knob turned silently and Meryl peeked carefully out. She recognized the hall outside from earlier (that was Vash's room at the end!), but now it was quiet and empty and all the doors were closed. Meryl's only real hope was that Vash might still be hiding in his room, waiting for the chance to sneak out unnoticed. Or, as was more likely in his case, to burst out right in the middle of everything in a grand Idiot entrance.

Not for the first time, Meryl wished she had any clue how Vash's mind really worked.

Deciding she had better make a break for it while the coast was clear, Meryl opened the door enough to peer around at the mouth of the hall and into the main deck area beyond. She couldn't see anyone, hijackers or passengers alike, and sneaked quickly toward Vash's room, staying low and tight to the wall.

The door was locked.

_Of course it was. _

Voices suddenly sounded more loudly at the other end of the hall, coming nearer, and Meryl panicked, frozen. And then she remembered—another stroke of good luck!—the bobby pin still tucked behind her ear.

She hurriedly twisted the bobby pin apart at the mid-point, giving her two halves and a passable imitation set of lock picks. With no time for finesse, Meryl knelt in front of the door handle and jammed the bent half into the bottom of the keyhole, twisting the lock as far as it would go. The second half of the pick went straight into the lock and starting raking the pins inside with as much care as she could manage.

"Come on, come on," hissed Meryl, partly to the lock and partly to herself. She was several years out of practice, and this was just going to come down to blind luck. "Goddamn it, _give,_" she demanded, giving ever-so-slightly more torque to the bottom pick. One more hasty rake of the pins and, miraculously, the lock clicked open.

Meryl dived forward into the room and abandoned the makeshift lock picks as she closed the door behind her, breathing a quick sigh of relief. She glanced around, impressed at the size and décor of the first-class rooms (despite the situation), but didn't see Vash.

"Vash?" she called quietly. "It's me, we gotta get out of here."

When there was no reply, Meryl stood and crossed the room to the wardrobe, pulling one door open and leaning fully inside it to check the interior. "Vash?" She ran into the attached bathroom and found it similarly empty. Finally Meryl dropped to all fours and looked under the bed. Moonlight glinted on two green eyes in the dark.

"_There_ you are," she hissed, annoyed. "What are you waiting for?" Meryl stood quickly and ran back to crouch by the door, chancing a brief glance into the hall. "Come on, it's clear, let's go!"

When she looked back, Vash hadn't emerged from under the bed and she scowled.

"What, are you stuck?" Meryl demanded. She grabbed the edge of the bed frame and pulled it away from the wall. It was heavier than she had expected—maybe he _was_ stuck—and the feet scraped loudly across the floor. Her efforts had only moved the bed about fifteen iches, and she scrambled over the mattress on all fours. "_Christ,_" she muttered. "Do I have to come down there and get you myself?"

Meryl looked down into the shadowy gap between bed frame and wall, hissing, "Vash!"

After a moment she could see more clearly in the darkness and she recognized vaguely the shape of Vash's body, lying on its side with all his spindly limbs sprawled limp and lifeless across the floor.

Suddenly Meryl was scared. "Wait—Vash?"

She reached down and shook him roughly by the shoulder. He didn't rouse.

"Whoa, whoa whoa whoa," said Meryl, panicking. "Vash? Vash!" She scrambled down to the floor, struggling to roll Vash onto his back in the limited space, straddling him across the hips just to fit them both between the bed frame and the wall. His head lolled from his shoulders and she took his face in her hands.

"Whoa, hey—wake up," she demanded, slapping her palm repeatedly against his cheek. "Vash? Can you hear me?" Meryl bent low over him, turning her ear to listen for breath. Almost at once she realized she could already _smell_ his breath, coming soft and shallow and sweet, and she let her nose touch his for a moment just for the comfort of inhaling that familiar scent.

Meryl closed her eyes and gave a quiet sigh of relief to know Vash was still _breathing,_ at least. She drew back to look down at him again, just as someone burst through the door behind her.

Meryl ducked down hurriedly, hiding below the height of the mattress. There wasn't much room left to be had between them, but she flattened herself across Vash's body, trying to see out from under the bed. Her cheek was pressed tight to his forehead and she waited, frozen, trying not to fidget as Vash's bristly hair tickled her nose.

"I swear, I heard something," said the man who had entered. He was shouting back to another man in the hallway outside. Meryl hoped that in the near-dark the man wouldn't notice the small gap between the bed and the wall.

From her vantage point under the bed, Meryl watched the man's dirty white boots stomp into the small bathroom, heard the curtain drawn sharply aside. Then the boots crossed the room to the half-open wardrobe and the second door was flung open wide.

And then the boots approached the bed.

Meryl swallowed hard and held her breath, watching the man step closer. She expected him to stoop down at any second and see them, but instead he suddenly planted one foot hard on the edge of the bed and shoved it back against the wall.

Meryl tensed, crouching even closer to protect Vash's body, but the bed frame still hit her shoulder and she felt the rough edge tear apart the fabric of her shirt and rip into her skin as it passed over them.

She had cried out in surprise and pain, briefly, cutting it short through gritted teeth. The feet of the bed had scraped across the floor again and the frame had hit the wall with a resounding _crash!_ and Meryl hoped they had made enough combined noise to cover the sound.

For a long moment, she bit her lips tightly together, _praying_ she hadn't been heard.

Then the man got down on one knee and put one white-gloved hand flat on the floor. The second hand that appeared was holding an automatic rifle, pointing into the darkness under the bed.

_Shit._

Meryl turned her face back to Vash's, trying to condense herself as tightly as possible over his body, hoping maybe she could shield him, if…

She shut her eyes tight and waited.

"NYAO!"

"_Fuck!_"

Meryl looked up so quickly she hit her head painfully on the underside of the bed, but she managed to do it in time to see Kuroneko leap out from the shadows, from somewhere under the bed Meryl hadn't noticed. He clawed fiercely at the man's hands before streaking across the floor toward the door. The man scrambled up to his feet and Meryl gasped as he opened fire on the cat. The gun spat out a dozen rounds, and the shell casings fell to the floor and rolled under the bed, one of them burning the bare skin of Meryl's leg. She cringed away from it, pulling herself further onto Vash's chest again.

Other people down the hall were shouting now, and the man stomped out of the room, still swearing profusely.

"Just some fucking cat," he snarled, and he slammed the door shut behind him.

Meryl's heart was racing like mad and she took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm down again after the last few minutes' panic. When her chest expanded for the inhale it forced her shoulder against the bed again and the new injury stung painfully. She tried to ignore it.

She had hoped the gunfire might have woken Vash, but he hadn't made any sign of noticing it. She could still smell his breath, though, so at least the situation hadn't gotten _worse._

Now Meryl was sandwiched pretty tightly between Vash's chest and the bed above them, and it took a few minutes to actually wriggle free and down to the floor, during which time she ended up getting a lot more friendly with Vash's body than she would have otherwise—well, otherwise _intended_, anyway.

_God, he is fit **everywhere.**_

Meryl's cheeks burned, and for one moment she was actually glad Vash _wasn't_ awake. But then she was on the floor next to him and he was still stubbornly unconscious when she needed his help.

"_Damn_ it, Vash," she whispered, scowling uselessly at his unmoving features.

It dawned on her suddenly that she had never actually seen Vash like this before, just so still and silent—two things she rarely saw in him anyway, much less at _once_. It was so strange to see him without seeing the man in red or the Idiot all over his face, and just see him _calm._ And for some reason she waited a long moment to really look at him.

_God, he's **gorgeous.**_

"Aw, fuck," muttered Meryl, clenching her eyes shut and turning away, furious for even _thinking_ it that loudly.

Feeling embarrassed and ridiculous and angry all at once, she looked back to Vash and slapped him hard across the face, hissing, "Wake _up,_ you Idiot, I need you!" When he _still_ didn't wake, she gritted her teeth and rolled onto her stomach, crawling away from Vash and out from under the bed, saying, "I don't know how you ended up like this, but I bet you _deserved_ it."

Meryl got to her feet, stood in the middle of the room, and fretted.

She didn't know what to do. She had counted on having Vash as an ally in this, and now… Chewing on the tip of her thumb, Meryl glanced around the room, thinking hard. She couldn't get out the way she'd come in, not after all the fuss with the cat; she could still hear the BadLads at the other end of the hall, and she didn't even want to risk opening the door just to look out. That left only one other option, and she looked resignedly up at the partially exposed air vent in the ceiling.

"Great," she muttered.

Meryl retrieved the bobby-pin-turned-lock-pick from the floor by the door and held the pieces in her teeth as she clambered up to stand on the top of the clothes dresser below the air vent. She could only just reach the metal grate that would lead to the air ducts above, but she managed to slide one half of the bobby pin into the flat-head groove of one of the screws. It took ages to get the first screw out, and then another hundred years or so to remove the second.

Bending the grate open was faster than taking the time to remove all four screws, and Meryl hauled herself up into the air ducts, trying not to cut herself on the sharp edges of the vent. Bending the grate back into place as best she could, Meryl tried to get her bearings.

She hadn't really grown much since sixteen, so the air ducts were only as cramped as she remembered. She could still move pretty freely, on hands and knees, without making too much noise. She had always been volunteered to run errands like this, as the smallest, through (or into) areas usually off-limits to people of her pay grade. Her size had always put her in the strangest situations, able to reach things others couldn't, squeeze into places others couldn't. It had made Meryl a useful commodity back then, but it was annoying as hell.

Now she remembered how damn cold it was, crawling through these stupid tin-foil tunnels, and Meryl wished she was wearing something more than her nightshirt. But she knew where she was going, or at least she was pretty sure, and she made good progress heading aft.

Until she turned a corner and ran head-first into someone else.

Both of them gave a little grunt of surprise and pain, each knocked backward slightly by the collision with the other, and by the time the stars had cleared from her vision Meryl could see the faint shadow of the other person scrambling away in the opposite direction.

"Hey, wait!" she hissed, hurrying after them so quickly Meryl knew she would be making too much noise. "What the hell—who are you? Get back here!" Meryl caught up and seized one leg of the person's trousers, yanking back, hard.

"Get off me!"

It was just a boy, Meryl realized, young enough that his voice cracked when he yelled at her. He lashed out, kicking at her, and Meryl let go as the heel of his shoe contacted squarely with her fading black eye.

"Fuck!" she hissed, stopping her pursuit to sit back on her heels and press both hands over her face. "_Shit_-fuck!" It was very literally blinding pain, and the ache remained there, throbbing, even after she managed to open both eyes again and blink away tears. The boy was gone, and though she could still hear him scrambling awkwardly away, his jarring movements echoing through the thin metal air ducts, Meryl had more important things to do than follow him.

She needed to find Milly, and fast.

Continuing aft, Meryl abruptly discovered she didn't know the airways quite as well as she remembered; the metal surface below her had suddenly disappeared in a sharp slope and she was falling, half sliding and half tumbling down a steep chute at a dizzying rate.

The salmon sandwich she'd had for dinner was dangerously close to making a reappearance when the slope of the chute finally lessened and began to level out. Meryl had no idea how far she had fallen—it felt like iles!—and was relieved to be finally sliding to a halt on her belly. She rolled over and lay flat on her back for a few minutes, just breathing slowly and trying not to throw up. When her insides had finally settled, she returned to all fours and started crawling forward again.

Meryl had absently noticed the force of the air flowing toward her was growing stronger, but didn't stop to think about the implications until the floor disappeared beneath her hands again and she was only barely able to stop herself falling forward and out into one of the large, vertical shafts that ran the whole height of the steamer—and more importantly, from falling into the spinning blades of the massive fan that was pushing the cold air all the way to the uppermost decks.

Adrenaline was making Meryl's heart pound quadruple-time and she scrambled back several yarz in a matter of moments, but this time the nausea won out and she retched, wiping her mouth on her sleeve as she caught her breath again.

_Fuck this._

She had fallen far enough that none of the BadLads would still be looking around these levels for passengers, so she found her way to the nearest _legitimate_ access panel, where steamer crew were able to get in to make any needed repairs or adjustments, and let herself out.

Some of her earlier good luck seemed restored as Meryl found herself back down near the loading dock where she and Milly had boarded earlier that day. When she made her way toward the storage units near the rear of the steamer, Meryl was alarmed to find every one of them standing open. When she looked into the first, it was obvious someone had searched it, leaving things in total disarray.

_Oh no…_

Meryl ran, as panicked now as she had been when she found Vash unconscious, and slid to a halt in front of the storage unit where she and Milly had left their luggage.

"Mil—_shit!_"

Meryl had come face to face with one of the BadLads and she dived sideways into the adjacent storage unit. She was scrambling to hide behind a row of smaller storage lockers when she heard the man shout, "Ma'am, wait!" She sat with her back to the cold metal of the lockers, bewildered.

"Ma'am, it's me!" said the man.

Meryl didn't have a goddamn clue what was going on and she wasn't going to move until she figured it out. But—what the _hell?_

"Meryl Elizabeth Stryfe, _get out here,_" the man demanded, and Meryl gasped. What—how the _fuck—what the hell?_

Meryl finally hazarded the best guess she could and took a quick peek around the lockers and toward the open door of the storage unit. It was definitely one of the BadLads standing there, wearing the bulky black suit with three neon stripes on each massive shoulder, but he was holding Milly's stun-gun.

"Milly?" she called, finally.

"How else would I know your name?" said the man, sounding annoyed. "Mr. Bernadelli makes me do the filing when Karen is gone!"

That convinced her. Meryl came out from hiding and the person in the suit waved cheerfully at her.

"Hi, Ma'am!" he said.

Meryl smiled, finally, and reached out to remove the suit's gas-mask faceplate.

"Oh, thanks!" said Milly, in her own voice, now unaltered by the faceplate, and she beamed at Meryl. "I didn't know how to do that…"

"What happened?" asked Meryl, laughing, handing Milly the faceplate.

"Two of these men came down searching the warehouses," said Milly. "I got them with my stun-gun, and put on one of their suits in case more of them came looking." Then she frowned, saying, "It's really stuffy in here, though."

"That was a really good idea, Milly," Meryl said, suddenly realizing they could use the suits to move about the steamer without attracting attention. "We can use them as camouflage."

Milly beamed even more brightly at Meryl, clearly pleased to have been of such help.

"But there's only two," Milly said, now frowning. "What about Mr. Vash?"

Meryl's sudden delight in finding this new plan ebbed away and she felt the smile slide from her face. Milly looked at her uncertainly, and Meryl shook her head.

"We're on our own," she said, grimly.


	39. Episode 8, Between Wasteland&Sky, Part 1

A/N: Thanks to all who have been waiting so patiently (and some not so patiently, that's okay too); apologies for the delay. I can tell you definitively that this story will never be permanently abandoned because I love it too much and have the whole story arc planned out through all 26(+) episodes, and SO MUCH ALREADY WRITTEN FOR FURTHER DOWN THE LINE that I am SO EXCITED FOR. I can only apologize for any more long breaks to come. Life happens.

As a semi-bonus (maybe?) and possible peace-offering, I'm also posting the first chapter of a companion piece to this story that I'm working on; for Episode 18 "Goodbye For Now" of Vash's experiences during his time as Ericks, outside the Meryl-centric narrative of Tension. Some long-time readers will recognize it as a revision/repost of an old place-holder chapter from a previous time I was stuck with a long delay/break. So, nothing new right away for old readers, but it will continue along the same 5-6 chapter-per-episode format. And hopefully, any time I'm not posting on Tension I'll be working on that one.

* * *

Episode 8: And Between the Wasteland & Sky, Part 1

Meryl was struggling to put on the BadLad's bulky suit. From what she could tell, the suits were one-size-fits-all, which meant she was drowning in it while Milly was crammed in almost too tightly to move. The helmet-piece sat heavily on Meryl's shoulders and the rest of the suit sagged around her to pile up in folds between her knees and her feet.

"This is impossible," she muttered, trying to shift the weight of the bulky shoulders to something more manageable. She gave up. "Screw it, let's just go."

"Where?" asked Milly.

"Back to the bunk room," said Meryl, reaching up to put Milly's faceplate back in place. "I need my derringers." She attached her own faceplate and led Milly back up to their bunk room, glad of the disguises that let them move freely between decks and corridors, not limited to back passageways or—god forbid—more air ducts.

When they reached the bunk room door, still well-hidden in shadows, Meryl removed her suit's faceplate and carefully knocked out a _shave-and-a-haircut_ on the hatch as best she could with one over-large gloved hand. For a long time there was no response, and Milly nudged her with an elbow.

"Do _two-bits_," she whispered, her voice still pitched low, augmented by the faceplate. Meryl gave Milly a sideways scowl that the younger woman could never have made out in the dark, but grudgingly reached up to knock the reply.

A clear _two-bits_ came from inside the bunk room before Meryl's knuckles had even touched the heavy hatch door. There was a _clank_ noise as the door unlocked from inside and a small white face appeared in the narrow space between door and door frame.

"Mil—_augh!_"

Evie had caught sight only of the BadLads' suits, not Meryl's face, and she tried frantically to pull the door shut again. Meryl stuck out one heavily-booted foot—_steel-toed, thank god_—and Evie fell backwards as the door stopped suddenly, wrenched out of her hands.

"It's us!" said Meryl, pushing the hatch open and climbing clumsily into the room. "Remember? _Two-bits_, that's us!" Milly followed, and Meryl turned to remove her partner's faceplate before she could speak out in a man's voice.

"Hi, Evie!" said Milly, cheerfully, waving as best she could through the BadLad's suit.

"We're just stopping in for my cloak," Meryl told them, lumbering down the room's narrow pathway and reaching up into her bunk. She rummaged around with one hand and found her cloak bundled up at the foot of the cot.

Meryl let the cloak fall open and realized she didn't know what the hell to do with it. It would be a little conspicuous for one of BDN's goons to be running around with a white cloak on—not that the clasp would fit around the suit's ridiculous shoulders anyway.

"Ma'am?" asked Milly, hesitantly.

"Damn, damn, damn," hissed Meryl. The suit didn't exactly have an excess of pockets for her to stow any pistols away, and she suddenly regretted not bringing one of the BadLads' rifles with her. It wasn't her preferred weapon, but she could use it well enough and it was certainly better than having nothing.

A thorough, albeit quick, search of the suit _did _finally find a single zippered compartment on the left hip just large enough for two derringers. It already contained a half-eaten candy bar and Meryl removed it, scowling, to make room. She rolled up her cloak and stowed it safely away again in her bunk.

_Two. Fantastic_.

She and Milly left the bunk room, making sure Evie locked the heavy hatch door behind them, and it wasn't until they were three decks up that Meryl realized she could have put another two pistols in _Milly's_ suit.

_Damn it._

Meryl gave up on going back and led Milly further aft, hoping to find some _real_ BadLads that could lead them to wherever BDN had gathered the passengers or sent his men. Heading toward the rear passenger cabins, Meryl stopped suddenly to listen intently to the corridor around them, certain she had heard a faint knocking sound from somewhere nearby.

"Do you hear something?" she asked Milly. Meryl was unsettled to hear her own voice so loud within the confines of the suit, and even more so at the slight lag before her question was filtered through the suit's faceplate. It was an echo of her words in a man's voice, and she sincerely hoped she wouldn't have to put up with it for long.

"Hear what?" asked Milly.

Meryl heard it again, quiet knocking, and she followed the noises to a blank-faced door. She hesitated for a moment, fiddled around with the zippered compartment on her suit and retrieved one of the derringers, then pulled the door open.

"What the—" Meryl stopped short. Two BadLads were sitting on the floor of the janitorial closet, tied back-to-back with their hands and feet bound.

"Thank god you found us!" said one of them.

"My goodness, what happened?"

It was so _strange_ to hear Milly's worried query, one that Meryl had heard _so_ many times, coming from the BadLad standing next to her.

Then a voice not her own suddenly blared in Meryl's ears. She winced at the deafening volume and heard Milly squawk somewhere nearby.

"_Hey scumbags!_" said the voice. Meryl realized the BadLads' suits must have an internal PA system, and she would bet Vash's bounty that it was Brilliant Dynamites Neon himself on the other end. "_If you all keep dragging your heels, I'll kill you!_" the voice screamed. "_Catch the bastard! Bring him to me, NOW!_"

Milly wondered aloud who Neon was talking about, but Meryl could have laughed.

"Only Vash can make someone that angry," Meryl told her. "You," she said, addressing the captive BadLads. "Which way did he go?"

"That way," said one, jerking the suit's massive shoulder toward the front of the ship.

Meryl stowed the derringer in the zippered compartment again and shut the closet door on the two men.

"Hey, wait!" one of them called. "Let us out!"

Meryl jumped as another voice blared out at her, this time from the steamer's PA system, echoing down the corridors. _"I'm at the starboard passenger cabins!" _it said._ "It's him! It's the blonde!"_

Meryl slid to a halt and grabbed the arm of Milly's suit.

"Wait, that's…"

"On the other side of the ship!" finished Milly. "How do we get there from—"

"No," interrupted Meryl, "I mean, that voice—"

"_It's no good! He's hidden himself with incredible speed! He's—_" The words were cut off, drowned out by a gargled, high-pitched, _painfully_ familiar scream.

"_That_'s Mr. Vash," Milly said, matter-of-factly.

"Which means he's _not_ at the starboard passenger cabins," said Meryl. "But why lead them there?"

Something rocked the steamer again and Meryl fell against the corridor wall. The weight of the suit put her off balance and she slid to the ground, wondering what the hell was going on.

"_What's with the bumpy ride, Boss?_" came a BadLad's query through the suit's intercom, giving voice to Meryl's concern.

"_Ship's navigator disagreed with me,_" said Neon, dismissively. "_He's dead. So's the steering._"

"Oh fantastic," muttered Meryl, as Milly pulled her upright again.

"_That doesn't concern you now,_" Neon barked. "_New plan; you morons on B-deck, clear out the ballroom. Everybody else circle back around each stairway, we're going to lead this bastard into a trap._"

Neon started laying out a detailed plan, using the suit's intercom to tell his men where to go and then using the steamer's PA to say the opposite. Meryl briefly wondered if it was worth blowing her cover to get to one of the steamer's communications rooms and alert Vash as to what was going on. She decided she could get to the ballroom just as quickly, and maybe get an upper hand on the situation from there.

"_So don't kill him,"_ Neon finished, through the suit's intercom._ "Not yet."_

Meryl's plan to get to the ballroom first went awry when the route she planned included one of the narrower crew passageways she had used earlier that evening; the BadLads' suits simply wouldn't fit through it. When the sound of gunfire rang through both the corridor and the intercom, Meryl panicked, trying to find another shortcut.

She and Milly got to the ballroom just as all the BadLads _stopped _firing, and Meryl tried to hold off any further panic by repeating Neon's order, "_Don't kill him,_" over again in her head.

Now Neon was visible head-and-shoulders above the rest, standing at the front of his gang of BadLads, and Meryl managed to push her way to the front of the crowd just as Neon brought a laser pistol up to aim. She had to stand on her tip-toes to reach, but she jammed the barrel of her derringer up under the man's jaw.

"_Stop!_" she shouted.

The whole room seemed to freeze and for a long moment all Meryl could hear was her own labored breathing, deafeningly loud within the confines of the BadLad's suit.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" demanded Neon, looking down at her sideways. Meryl ignored him.

"Vash," she called to the room at large, still trying to catch her breath. "You okay?" Risking a glance away from the man she held at gunpoint, Meryl looked around for Vash. She found him standing against the doors at the back of the long ballroom, and the walls on either side were riddled with hundreds of bullet holes. He looked unhurt, if completely baffled.

"Uh—yeah," he managed, finally, staring at her wide-eyed. "I guess?"

Meryl removed the suit's faceplate with her free hand and glared at him, saying, "It's _me_, Idiot."

"Oh," said Vash, looking surprised. Then his face split in a broad, Idiot grin. "Hi!"

"Enough!" said another BadLad, turning his rifle on Meryl. He dug the barrel into her ribs (or where her ribs should have been, through the thick suit), demanding, "Drop it, or I'll—"

Meryl heard the sound of Milly's stun-gun and an instant later a giant metal claw snapped tight around the man, flinging him forward into a few of his fellows, creating a BadLad pile-up in the center of the room. Meryl glanced back over her shoulder to see Milly waving at Vash.

"Hi, Mr. Vash!" said Milly. Then she pointed toward her suit's faceplate. "It's Milly," she explained. "I just can't take off the—"

"Who the hell _are_ you people?" Neon shouted, startling Meryl.

"My name is Meryl Stryfe," she said, from long-ingrained habit. "And this is my partner—"

"Milly Thompson!"

"We work for the Bernadelli…" Meryl began her usual litany, but stopped short. She sighed heavily, shaking her head. "We're with him," she said resignedly, pointing at Vash, who looked startled to hear it.

"And who is _he?_" asked Neon, impatiently.

"Boss!" said one of the BadLads, suddenly. "I recognize him from all the posters! That's Vash the—"

The last word was drowned out by a dozen shouts of alarm as the steamer bucked under their feet. The derringer flew from Meryl's hand as she was thrown sideways, and absently she recognized the grating scream of twisting metal from several decks below. She could feel a new tremor in the steamer's shaking now and knew something had gone wrong in the engine room.

And then she was on her back, and she wasn't sure how long she had been there. She couldn't see, and couldn't breathe, and couldn't move, and for a terrifying moment Meryl didn't understand what had happened. Then the weight settling on her chest let out a low groan and Meryl realized she was trapped under the body of an only semi-conscious BadLad. The man was slowly crushing her as her suit sagged under the weight, the whole of his bulk across her chest, forcing all the air from her lungs.

"Ma'am?" Milly called, and her voice was her own; she had made it out of her suit. "Ma'am! Where are you?"

"Here!" gasped Meryl, trying to move a hand, a foot, anything that might attract attention. But she was pinned, and almost out of breath. "_Here…_" She could hear Milly's soft sounds of exertion, could feel bodies shifting around her, and then finally squinted up into the fluorescent ceiling lights as Milly rolled the last BadLad off Meryl's chest.

"Ma'am!" said Milly, relieved, pulling Meryl up into a sitting position. "Are you alright?"

"Better, now," Meryl admitted. She looked around the room as best she could, seeing only piles of inert BadLads. "Where's Vash?" she asked, sharply. "And Neon?"

"I don't know," said Milly, shaking her head. "They were gone by the time I got out of my suit."

"We have to find them, _now_," said Meryl, anxious. Neon had been ready to kill Vash before she had intervened. _And now…?_ Meryl panicked, struggling with the suit. "Milly, can you help me get this damn thing off?" The younger woman kept Meryl propped up and reached for the release at the back of the helmet-piece.

Meryl heard Milly muttering softly under her breath as she worked, until she finally sighed and looked back to Meryl again.

"It's stuck, Ma'am," said Milly. "The clasp is crushed, I can't get it undone."

"Damn it," hissed Meryl, collapsing angrily onto her back again. There was the sound of gunfire and screaming from somewhere behind them, toward the casinos on the main deck. "Shit," said Meryl. "_Shit._" She managed to pull her arms out of the sleeves and into the main body of the suit; it was so large on her that there was room enough to reach one arm up through the hole the faceplate normally covered. "I'm coming out through here, then," she said, twisting her body to get her head through the hole as well.

"Will you fit?" asked Milly worriedly, hovering over Meryl, clearly not sure how to help.

"Don't have much choice," grunted Meryl, pushing down on one of the suit's giant shoulders with her free hand, trying to lever herself out, pulling her other arm tight across her body to make the span of her shoulders as narrow as possible. She scraped up her injured shoulder again but managed to get her whole torso free and breathed a sigh of relief. When she tried to stand, the metal ring that attached the faceplate to the suit caught at her hips and refused to go further. Meryl swore, pushing down on the suit with both hands, but it wouldn't budge. "Milly, help," she asked, reaching up toward the younger woman.

"Ma'am?" said Milly, uncertainly.

"I'm stuck!" Meryl said. "Just pull!" Milly took her hands and started pulling her upward, but without enough force to make any real progress. She stopped pulling as Meryl winced, and looked worriedly down at her.

"I don't want to hurt you…"

There was another sharp scream from down the hall, cut suddenly short.

"_Get me out of here!_" demanded Meryl, and Milly set her mouth in a grim line. She grasped Meryl under the arms, braced her foot on the body of the suit, and _yanked_.

Meryl popped free of the suit like a cork from a bottle, nearly knocking Milly over. She caught her balance on Milly's arms and let out a strangled little noise at the pain, looking down to see the sides of her long shirt had nearly shredded through as the metal ring scraped over her hips.

"Thanks," said Meryl, breathless. She winced again, pressing her hands over the raw skin, quietly muttering, "_Ow._" A quick glance around the room told Meryl she'd never find her lost derringer in time to be of any use, so she tried to retrieve the second pistol from the discarded suit's hip compartment.

The zipper had broken, trapping the derringer inside.

Meryl let out a wordless shriek of rage and ran out into the hall empty-handed, headed toward the main deck with Milly close on her heels. She was surprised to immediately find a crowd of people blocking her way and she slid to an unexpected halt, trying not to run straight into a group of girls at the back of the throng. Meryl managed to stop in time, but Milly ran into _her,_ and they and the girls all toppled over in a heap.

"I'm so sorry!" said Milly, leaping to her feet and pulling both Meryl and the nearest girl—the one Meryl had refused to sell rum to earlier, she realized—upright again.

"What's going on?" Meryl demanded of the girl, as Milly helped the others to stand, too.

"I don't know," she said, equally confused. "Everybody's just looking out onto the observation deck, but I can't get close enough to see why."

"Right," muttered Meryl, and she turned away to start digging her way through the crowd. Now was no time for subtlety, and she used her bony elbows and shoulders indiscriminately, shoving people out of her way to squeeze through to the front. Vaguely she could hear Milly following her, saying, "Sorry! Excuse us, we—sorry, sir!"

The mass of people behind her was so eager to see what was happening that the push toward the front was crushing Meryl's ribs into the railing that separated the enclosed passenger cabin from the open-air observation deck. She couldn't breathe much, but at least she could see.

Vash and Neon stood out in the open, facing each other, apparently waiting for something, and it took Meryl a moment to realize what was happening.

"Seriously?" she demanded shrilly, startling the people crowded around her. "_Now?_"

"A duel!" said Milly, who had made her way through to Meryl's side.

"We don't have time for this bullshit," fumed Meryl. _Men..._ "We have to get the steamer under control again. I have to stop this!"

"But how?"

Meryl belatedly heard Milly's query, but by the time it registered—and she realized she had _no idea how whatsoever_—she had already ducked under the railing and was running full-tilt toward where the two men were facing off.

A huge chunk of rock fell suddenly to the deck, scraped from the canyon wall by the steamer's protruding upper hull, and Meryl skidded to a stop in surprise. She watched Vash throw himself sideways behind the boulder and then gasped as Neon dropped the laser pistol, opening fire instead with two huge chain guns.

They reduced the boulder to rubble in a matter of seconds and Meryl dived out of the way as larger chunks slid across the deck toward her. She pushed herself up onto hands and knees and turned in time to see sparks fly from Neon's suit as bullets tore through the lighted stripes on the massive shoulders. He stumbled backwards, forced to stop firing so he could catch his balance again.

Fifteen yarz away, Vash appeared from behind the remains of the boulder and fell heavily against the metal plating of the steamer's deck. His revolver was thrown from his grasp as he tumbled to a halt on his side.

"No!" gasped Meryl. She leapt to her feet and ran, as best she could, picking her way through all the debris in bare feet. Neon was standing again and he had retrieved his discarded laser pistol, laughing as he advanced on Vash, who hadn't moved from where he had fallen.

Meryl gave up avoiding the rubble and just gritted her teeth against the sting of jagged rock shards biting into her heels as she sprinted the last few yarz to leap forward, putting herself between Vash and the pistol Neon had trained on him.

"_No!_"


End file.
